Prime Directive
by Scies
Summary: Half a Novel. Featuring politicians, courtiers, terrorists and the ghosts of futures past.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes – please read them**, because this is important.

Yet another TNG novel (my last), and I am doing something here that I have never done before, and don't believe in – I am publishing a WIP. I abandoned this years ago, and I am going to attempt to finish it now (**please note – no guarantees**, though). This thing does hold a special place in my heart, in a different way again from _Ship of Fools_ (my pride and joy), and after the relentless fluff of _Creatures Great and Small_ it seemed like a good idea to go back and try my hand at something a little more gritty. Some readers would appear to agree.

This story is rated T for a reason. No sexual content I think, but distinctly grownup stuff.

_Prime Directive_ is set after the events of _All Good Things_... That, too, is important. You'll see.

And at the risk of sounding ludicrously pretentious, this story is not a reaction to, still less a comment on, anything that is happening in the world right now. If I remember correctly it was begun around 1998, and the developments and ending, including the "Murnak-Ramé Incident", were sketched out right from the start. Of course it does have its roots firmly in reality – any decent story has. But as one notable writer said, it is important to distinguish between applicability and allegory. This is not an allegory.

That's it, I believe.

And yes, of course Star Trek is the property of Paramount. This is a work of fan fiction, written solely because the author has an enduring love and respect for the characters and themes of that amazing show, _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. I am not making money here, and not trying to either.

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**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Prologue**

_First Officer's Log, Stardate 48081.6. We're on our way to the Rûk system to pick up Captain Picard after a rather enigmatic message from Admiral Haden has put an end to our investigations in the __Balten sector. For the moment, all I know is that it's supposed to be important. _

Commander William Riker was sprawling in the _Enterprise_'s command chair. Legs stretched out in front of him, one elbow planted on the armrest, chin in hand – and as usual when he was lost in his own thoughts, his expression was rather forbidding. On his left Commander Deanna Troi sat primly upright, hands in her lap and eyes on the stars streaking towards the viewscreen.

„How long to Rûk, Data?"

„Nine minutes until we enter planetary orbit, Counselor."

Troi nodded, and Riker gave a grunt. Then, feeling that she was looking at him with a degree of wry amusement, he sat up. She probably knew quite well what he had been thinking. He thought of it a lot these days. He was quite sure that she did the same. And so, no doubt, did Worf, silently towering above and behind him. They would have to resolve it, the three of them – soon, the first officer promised himself as he had done a few times before.

He just hadn't got around to tackling the subject. The moment always seemed wrong. And neither of the others had said a word – as if they, too, were waiting for a better opportunity. As if, given a little time, the moment would come.

_As if_, thought Riker grimly, _Worf would_ ever _start on such a subject_.

Meanwhile, they were treading on eggshells with each other, not avoiding each other (thank God, it hadn't come to that) but taking such care not to put a foot wrong that it was like operating in a kind of limbo. _And those were the two_, the first officer of the _Enterprise_ thought, _I always knew where I stood with those two, and now we are… Hell, I wish I even knew what,_ _exactly_.

And then: _It may be up to me to start... But what the hell am I supposed to say?_

_It's about time the captain comes back from that holiday of his_, Riker thought. It was an odd notion, but one he had had before – that things would improve once Picard was back in the seat Riker was occupying now. Not because the captain would interfere in any way whatsoever, of course. But things would still look different, he was quite sure of that. It might just put everything into perspective. It _would_ give everybody something to focus on, the first officer decided – that was good enough for the moment. Something other than their own morbid reflections on ifs and might-have-beens.

As a matter of fact, he thought, frowning suddenly as the reason for the detour came back to him, their upcoming mission sounded very likely to take everybody's minds off their personal problems. It wasn't unusual for Starfleet to be initially tight-lipped about assignments. But to be given no information at all – just, basically, _Pick up your captain and go_ – that _was_ unusual. _Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once_, he found himself thinking, paused, and almost grinned. Shouldn't that have been Picard's comment? In any case, it sounded like trouble.

_No _wonder_ I'm on edge_, he decided, straightening in his chair. _Get a grip, Will_. Unless his inner clock was way off they should be reducing speed any moment now. And there, right on time, was Data.

„We are about to enter the Rûk system, Commander. Reducing speed now."

„Acknowledged." He stretched in anticipation, felt Deanna's look without having to turn, and then the streaking stars stopped, to fade away a moment later. An amber sun swung into view. It _was_ a small system. One class-M planet (Rûk Prime, privately christened Rûk Sole by Riker), one ball of frozen rock, a massive asteroid belt and two rather unspectacular small gas giants, but for some reason the lonely little world had attracted the attention of the Federation Archaeology Council, and consequently that of the captain. It was off limits to most people. The captain had easily obtained permission to set foot on Rûk Prime, which hadn't surprised Riker but might have surprised others. He'd been there for two weeks now, the only Human – the only sentient being – on that planet. _No accounting for taste_, thought Riker with something between a smile and a shudder. For a moment or two he felt sorry for Picard as well. For all he knew the captain might have been bitterly disappointed to have his holiday cut short like that.

The sun was off to the left now. They had been slipping in nearly at right angles to the system's plane, at warp one almost to the last moment. Riker thought he could still feel the slight tremor of engines powering down.

„Communicator range, Commander," Worf announced from above.

„Thanks, Worf." Riker slapped the badge on his chest. „Riker to Picard. D'you read me, Captain?"

It took only a moment. „Yes, Will, I do," the captain's voice came back, sounding faintly amused if anything. „Go ahead."

"Sir, you did get that subspace message?"

"I did indeed." Now a faint note of resignation was creeping in. "I have finished here for the moment, Number One, you can beam me up at your convenience."

„We'll be there in a minute, sir. Riker out. – Riker to transporter room three," he resumed almost in the same breath. „The captain is standing by."

„Understood, Commander," Chief Brossmer's calm voice came back.

Riker got to his feet, nodded briefly at Troi and barreled up the ramp to the turbolift.

He entered the transporter room just as the captain was clambering down from the platform, presenting an unaccustomed sight in blue civilian shirt, drab-colored and rather dusty pants and serviceable boots. A heap of gear and two small crates that had come up with him were still resting on the platform. „Have that delivered to my quarters, carefully, please," Picard said to Transporter Chief Brossmer, pointing at the crates, and then he turned to smile at Riker. „Hello, Will. I didn't expect you quite so soon."

„Same here, sir. I'm sorry for that. Did you enjoy yourself down there?"

Picard nodded, a little thoughtfully, thought Riker. „I may have found a bit of a cautionary tale, but – yes. And what," he added, reaching for a large canvas bag and slinging it over his shoulder, „is it that brings you back from the Balten sector?"

„Admiral Haden," Riker explained, falling into step as the captain made for the door. „He's actually said very little – just told us to pick you up and gave us a set of coordinates in the middle of nowhere. Which reminds me." He tapped his communicator. "Riker to bridge."

"Data here, Commander."

"Let's be on our way. I've entered the coordinates – warp six."

"Very well, Commander." Data sounded impassive as always. Riker was reasonably sure that in his own way the second officer was as curious about their mission as everybody else.

"Thanks, Data. Riker out. – The rest is in the computer for you to peruse, sir," he said on signing off.

The captain nodded again. „Anything out of the ordinary – other than this summons?"

„Nothing," Riker replied promptly. „Layover at Starbase 116 went as expected. Of course we didn't finish in the Balten sector, but you'll have Admiral Haden to thank for that, sir."

„Let's hope it's worth the trouble," Picard said with a very slight frown, the only sign that he thought the circumstances at all unusual, as they entered the turbolift. „Deck nine."

He didn't ask any further questions, and the ride was accomplished in companionable silence. The captain was looking very well, Riker couldn't help noting, rested and even slightly tanned, and it was easy to imagine that there was a little more spring to his step than there had been before. He certainly liked to think so. He had all but insisted Picard take the vacation when the opportunity came up. The captain had proved as refractory as usual, earnestly telling him that he had neither the time nor the inclination to go digging on Rûk – but Riker had trusted his instincts, and now he found to his satisfaction that he had been right.

„I'll have a look at this mission material," Picard announced as they approached his quarters, „and then I may call... that's to say, what time is it?"

„About fifteen-twenty, I should say," Riker replied without bothering with the ship's computer. „And sir, I can tell you that much, there is a _lot_ of this stuff."

„In that case I'll postpone the meeting until tomorrow. Today I'll just want a briefing, in – well, say an hour," he concluded after a thoughtful look down at his mud-caked boots. Riker nodded.

„An hour from now. I'll be on the bridge," he said, and left the captain to settle in.

**- - - - - - - -**


	2. Chapter 2

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 1**

„I don't _like_ it when they do that," Geordi La Forge complained to Riker. He was keeping his voice down, but the annoyed edge carried well across the conference lounge. „Those coordinates – there's nothing there. _Nothing_. Either we're meeting with somebody, or we'll be given new coordinates once we're there. Either way, I'd like to be told. This is is the finest ship in the Fleet. I'd say we've earned some trust. I like to know where I'm going."

„Hey. Let's just wait and see what comes of it." Riker dropped into his customary chair, grinning up at the engineer. „Admirals _have_ been known to make mountains out of molehills."

„Yeah, well –" La Forge walked round the table to his own chair, still looking dissatisfied. Opposite, Beverly Crusher was leaning back in her seat and clasping her hands behind her head.

„Well, it's fairly important, because otherwise they wouldn't have cut the captain's holiday. There were only six more days, for Heaven's sake, and he hasn't taken one for ages."

„Just for curiosity's sake, Doctor" – that was Riker, looking amused – „do you happen to know how much accumulated –"

„One hundred and nine days not counting the ones he took this time," Crusher replied promptly, not waiting him out. „Think of it. The things I could do with one hundred and nine days – mine to spend at will. No bridge duty, no sickbay, no physicals..."

„Where would you go?"

„Well, I'd certainly _start_ on Risa. Doing absolutely nothing for about two weeks. Being pampered, waited on, massaged, pedicured, bored out of my mind..." Her face took on a dreamy expression. „Paradise."

Riker tried not to look at Worf, at the far end of the table, who was listening with a mixture of incredulity and disgust while pretending to enter something into a padd. „And then?"

„Don't know. Caldos IV, perhaps. It wouldn't be Rûk, that much is certain."

The door hissed open to admit Deanna Troi and Data, and Riker caught the end of a sentence – something about contentment, he thought. „Which is why some Humans maintain that it should be pursued but never attained," Troi concluded, smiling at each of those present in turn.

„Ah," said Data, nodding. „Because it might lose its allure, thus, once attained, ceasing to be contentment at all. I believe I understand."

„We'll have to continue this some time, Data." Troi settled into her chair. „You know, I'd be willing to bet you have been reading something lately."

„Of course, Counselor. I make it a rule to –"

„Something in particular, Data," Troi interrupted, amused.

„Oh." Data looked blank for a moment. „I have, although I was not aware that the effects are so obvious."

„So, what was it?"

„The Faust legend," Data confessed, and Troi's smile widened.

„Well, that would explain it... We'll talk about it later," she promised. „Meet me in Ten Forward if you like. So, what did the captain say, Will?"

„Nothing so far." Riker grinned at her, noticing as he did so that the grin still came naturally. „There's no way he could even have _read_ all that stuff. But we won't be investigating planets for colonization sites this time, I'm quite sure of that."

„There _are_ no planets where we're going right now," La Forge grumbled from his chair further down the table. A moment later the captain entered, bringing with him the usual slight tensing of the atmosphere – as if everybody had just sat up mentally as well as physically. Picard swept the room with a glance and a nod at the assembled officers; then he slid into his chair.

„Well. Since we're all here –"

"Did you enjoy your holiday, Captain?" Troi asked gently.

Picard paused, frowned slightly, turned his head to look at her, and then finally he smiled. "Yes, Counselor, thank you – as a matter of fact I did. Very restful."

"I'm looking forward to hearing all about it," she said with a twinkle.

"And I'll be entirely at your disposal," he replied earnestly. "For the moment let's get down to business, shall we. As you of course know we have been taken off our assignment, and given another which Starfleet considers supremely important. For the moment, we're sent to establish a rapport with a civilization far beyond Federation space. For a number of reasons this is... well, rather an unusual mission."

„From the way Admiral Haden sounded I was guessing at a first contact," volunteered Riker.

„Yes and no. Actually, they contacted us." The captain clasped his hands on the table. „It's a world called Belet-Irune by the natives. Don't try to look it up, you won't find it. It is well beyond explored space, and the name doesn't appear in any starmaps although the system was catalogued some thirty years ago by one of our farthest-reaching probes, as FGC-238.313."

„Natty name for a system," commented La Forge.

„Briefly, the story is as follows. About eight months ago the _Kepler_ picked up a probe on a routine survey mission. The probe was actually headed for Federation space, but it was damaged and somewhat off course and might never have made it. The _Kepler_ was out on the fringes when they found it, by what Captain T'Lana calls _an unlikely combination of circumstances_. For reasons that will become clear soon she delivered it to Starfleet Command in person."

„Breaking off her mission?" Riker's eyebrows went up.

„Breaking off her mission. According to Admiral Haden the probe was turned over to a team of specialists who gathered what information they could, and presented a report. We are being sent to Belet-Irune on the strength of that report." Picard frowned briefly. „As you may have surmised from our present course and heading, Starfleet wants us to keep this as secret as we reasonably can. The system is well beyond Cardassian space, and we have been asked to avoid contact with the Cardassians – and, in fact, everybody else – to the best of our abilities. Starfleet Command has voiced the opinion that its position may become strategically important at some time in the future."

„A system _beyond_ Cardassian space." That was Worf, sounding suspicious. Riker was frowning as well. The captain nodded.

„Quite. Admiral Haden didn't go into detail on this point. The facts are, there are people out there who for some reason know of our existence, even if their knowledge is somewhat out of date, and are asking to be contacted. That probe contained an archive of information about their society. They are not a spacefaring civilization yet, but they have every intention of becoming one. If you like, we have been invited to come and have a look round."

„Why we and not the Cardassians?" Riker asked bluntly.

„That is one of many things Admiral Haden's team couldn't determine. Apparently there was no indication they are even aware of the Cardassian empire. I get the impression that the admiral was rather reticent about some aspects, but he did send us the information from the probe – or at least a substantial part of it. I have no doubt that they edited it before making it available to us. Counselor, I'd like you to review it and prepare a profile of these people."

„Of course, Captain."

„And Mr. Data, I've taken the liberty of making all the technical information available to you. I think it entirely possible that you will come up with something Admiral Haden's team missed."

„Thank you, sir. Am I correct in assuming that you were not supposed to share this information?"

„I'm supposed to use my discretion, but the admiral recommended I keep things on a need-to-know basis." The captain smiled a little. „But then those technical data are very little use to me, while you will make the best possible use of them... Questions?"

„I take it we'll be given a new course and heading once we reach those coordinates, Captain?"

„Yes, Mr. La Forge, you will." There was a distinct twinkle in Picard's eyes. „As a matter of fact I could give you the heading right now, but let's play this by the rules, shall we?"

„Sure, sir. No problem," replied La Forge, instantly mollified.

„What exactly are we expected to accomplish there?" asked Riker.

„Establish friendly relations. An opening. We don't know how these people came to know of the Federation, and what they want of us. In fact they may have sent other probes in other direcions, although they don't mention anything of the sort. Relatively speaking, they are neighbors of the Cardassians. But nobody knows who _their_ neighbors may be. As far as we are concerned it's unexplored space. I needn't tell you the potential use of an ally on the other side of the Cardassian Union."

„And the Cardassians have left these people alone? Why?"

„They probably don't know of them. I used the term _neighbors_ in the widest possible sense. FGC-238.313 – Belet-Irune – is situated below the Galactic Rift. That probe had been traveling for years when it was accidentally discovered by the _Kepler_."

„Why the _Enterprise_?" inquired Crusher.

„Well..." Picard smiled a little wryly. „From what little I have seen of the data so far we may be dealing with a troubled society here, and there _are_ a few details I am not supposed to share just yet. Suffice it to say that Starfleet likes to make sure we'll be able to deal with a variety of developments, including the wholly unexpected."

„Ah," said Riker, nodding.

„One of those," Geordi La Forge added knowingly.

„I hope not, Mr. La Forge. If that is all we'll reconvene at... seventeen hundred tomorrow?" The question was aimed at Troi, who nodded.

„I'll have that profile ready, Captain."

„Thank you. Dismissed."

It didn't escape Picard that his first officer was hanging back a little when the others left the observation lounge, almost as if pondering whether or not to address him on something else. For a moment he considered calling him back. Then he decided against it. Whatever it was, if it continued to bother him Riker would take it either to Counselor Troi or to his captain.

Picard rose to join his officers on the bridge.

It felt good to be back in that seat. He would have to return to Rûk some time, always provided he could get permission a second time, but right now… He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Was it possible? He might have been away for months for the pleasure it gave him. It was absurd. He had liked it on Rûk. He would have stayed longer if it had been possible. Had he actually missed his ship – this early on? He became aware of someone watching him with something much like silent hilarity. Troi had gone off, in order to study Admiral Haden's files no doubt, but it evidently didn't take a Betazoid to read him right now.

"Anything in particular, Will?" he asked composedly.

"Nothing at all," the answer came, promptly. "Just thinking. I take it we won't be arriving at Belet-Irune within the hour?"

"Not even within the week. In fact I am quite confident I'll be able to catalogue my finds before we get there."

Riker nodded. "Understood, sir. In that case –"

Picard turned his head when Riker didn't continue. "Yes, Number One?"

"Nothing," the first officer concluded, rather lamely. "Captain, if it's all right I'll just go have a look at a few things down in Engineering."

"Of course," Picard replied easily. "I'll hold the fort."

Riker's mouth quirked as he got to his feet. "Oh, and just in case I don't get back in time, it's our poker night tonight, so if you feel like showing up –"

The captain nodded. "Thank you, Will, I'll bear it in mind."

Riker left, nodding briefly to Worf just before he disappeared into the turbolift, and giving himself a shake the moment the doors had closed behind him.

"Deck thirty-six," he said, and thought: _That must have been so obvious, I might have told him _Sir, there's a problem among your command crew_ then and there_. But on second thoughts he was quite glad it hadn't gone any further. _And what would I have told him after that? That we're not functioning at peak efficiency because of…_ that? _Bullshit. They'd kill me, the two of them_…

By comparison he was quite happy with the way the invitation had come out. There was a balance to be struck here. Ever since that memorable night – how long, seven weeks ago now? Eight? – he had tried to make sure the captain knew he would be welcome to join them. Not often enough, or pointedly enough, to make him feel pressurized; just often enough the invitation didn't sound like an afterthought when it came. And always making sure the captain could decline without having to waste a thought on it. So far, he had not turned up again.

_That's all right_, the first officer of the _Enterprise_ thought. _As long as he knows that we know that he knows he could drop by_.

**- - - - - -**


	3. Chapter 3

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 2**

"I'll start with Belet-Irune rather than the probe," Troi announced with a look at the captain, punching a panel on the table as she spoke. A blue world sprang up on the viewcreen, wreathed in streaks of cloud and displaying a string of copper landmasses as it rotated.

"As you can see, the planet has three continents, all comparatively small – but one considerably larger than the others – as well as a number of large archipelagos. The largest continent is called Turië, and it is where the capital and government are located."

"A planetary government?" Riker sounded mildly surprised.

"A planetary government," Troi confirmed. "But that does not mean they have sorted out all their internal difficulties. They haven't. The continent of Turië is inhabited by two different racial groups, the Tala and the Hurso. A few centuries ago the Tala invaded what was then the Hurso continent, and in the course of two hundred years conquered it bit by bit. Today the ruling class is mainly Tala, and the friction is still considerable. It is –"

"Excuse me," Doctor Crusher interrupted, "but does that mean the Tala originated on one of those smaller continents?"

"They did. But they developed into a kind of merchant empire centuries ago, and today they are everywhere. In most places their arrival is ancient history, as in a colony that has long since become independent. There are provincial governments, and there are the usual disagreements with the central government, but there hasn't been an intercontinental war for many years. The main center of conflict is Turië itself."

"What kind of conflict are we talking about?" Crusher asked.

"A kind of sporadic, intermittent civil war. The two racial groups have never really mixed. There have been decades of relative quiet, and then hostilities have broken out again. It may have something to do with the fact that until very recently the Hurso were not allowed to hold any of the more important offices, and were excluded from all government posts."

La Forge whistled softly, and Riker gave a brief snort. "Well, that _would_ explain it."

"I am under the impression that the people who compiled the data were somewhat embarrassed by some of it. At the very least they viewed these conditions as problematic. The head of government of Belet-Irune is a man called Thana Ongar – that is to say, Thana Ongar was their head of government at the time the probe was launched, probably about twenty-three years ago. He was Tala, of course, but apparently his government made the first real effort to include the Hurso in the running of the continent's affairs. And we must keep in mind that Turië's affairs are – were – Belet-Irune's affairs to all intents and purposes, at least as far as we are concerned. There was a minister representing the Hurso during Thana Ongar's term of office, a novelty at the time. I must admit that I am not entirely sure whether or not this minister was just a figurehead. But it was a step – one the compilers appear to have been quite proud of."

"This Thana Ongar's team of scientists probably tried pretty hard to present their government in a favorable light." That was Riker, and it wasn't a question. Troi smiled, a little wryly.

"Oh, yes. But by all appearances the government _has_ done a lot. The Tala-Hurso friction is not the only problem. Turië has a very rigidly structured society, you might almost say a caste system, with the Tala tending to be higher-caste, but this distribution is not universal. There are Hurso-dominated regions – out-of-the way regions mainly – with their own problems. And there are other issues that are hampering their society as a whole. Apparently Thana Ongar's government has tried to tackle some of them at least."

"Twenty-three years ago," Beverly Crusher reminded them.

"Yes. Of course all that may have changed considerably since then."

"What's their technological level?" asked Riker.

"Well." Troi gave Picard another look. "Roughly, it is the equivalent of mid-twentieth century Earth. But there are some differences."

"Wait a moment," La Forge broke in. "No offense, Counselor, but they've got to be pretty massive differences if these people launched a probe capable of warp speed!"

"That is one of them," Troi replied, unoffended.

There was a moment's silence, but the counselor did not volunteer anything beyond that, and the captain was studying his hands, loosely clasped on the table. At last Crusher asked:

"What kind of people?"

"Humanoid," Troi answered readily, "quite similar to us in most respects. It is likely that we will be dealing with Tala representatives mostly, simply because they are – were –" She broke off with a little snort, shook her head and resumed, "_are_ the group that supplies the continent's élite. And I really have to stress that while they may be quite aware of the fact that this division of their society is far from satisfactory, and feel somewhat uncomfortable regarding it, there appears to be a strong sense of mission as well. I cannot tell you whether or not the same applies to other parts of the planet – there is very little material regarding them, and things may well be somewhat different there. But in Turië… those of Tala descent have been living with the notion that they are superior beings for centuries. They have been the rulers of a vast colonial empire – explorers, administrators, bringers of civilization as they saw it."

"Great," said Riker. "And the people they brought their civilization to?"

"Prior to the Tala invasion Turië was divided up into a large number of small states, principalities mostly. According to the material it wasn't a peaceful paradise, Will, and I am afraid the material sounds plausible. It appears to have been a mix of unstable alliances and petty wars. Some of the principalities survive to the present day, in an unofficial form."

"Sounds wonderful," Crusher said with a sigh. "And now we're supposed to help these people uphold their –"

"What do they want?" That was Worf, speaking for the first time.

"I _think_," said Troi, carefully, "they want to establish friendly relations with people whom they know to exist, and know to possess superior technology. They have – had – ambitious plans regarding space exploration. I would say they are quite likely to achieve interstellar travel at some stage, but they were very far from achieving it by the time they sent that probe, and cannot possibly have achieved it by now. Their ambitions alone would have been reason enough for them to contact us. It is very likely they are hoping for something more than mere contact, but they didn't say that in so many words. In fact I am under the impression that they carefully avoided saying anything of the sort, perhaps to avoid sounding as if they are asking for favors. Those were people proud of what they had achieved so far, proud of being able to send that probe. They, too, were Tala of course, and they really _were_ the élite of their society."

"Doesn't visiting them go straight against the Prime Directive?" asked Riker.

"Not necessarily," Troi answered, even more carefully. "After all, they invited us. In fact they specifically asked to be contacted. They know quite a lot about us already, and they didn't send that probe out into the unknown. It was programmed to reach the Federation."

"Which leads us right back to the question of how they came to know of us."

"We don't know that," Picard said. "And as I said, they may have sent other probes to other destinations. We'll have to be very cautious in our dealings with these people. In fact Admiral Haden suggested we do our best, _within reasonable limits_ as he put it, to adapt to their ways."

"Instead of just waltzing right over them in the time-honored way," La Forge added with a nod. "It'll be hard. But we'll try."

"Is it just me, or does it sound a little ominous – adapting _within reasonable limits_?" asked Crusher.

This time everybody noticed the look passing between Picard and Troi.

"Well," admitted Troi, "there are aspects that may require a little effort."

"Such as the fact that they're oppressing half their population?" Crusher's eyebrows went up.

"Doctor," said the captain. "Our information is at least twenty-three years old, there were signs of change then, and it is hardly our task to impress our ideas upon them."

"We are unlikely to experience any of this particular conflict first-hand," Troi put in. "But there are other issues. The caste system I mentioned. The fact that women are second-class citizens among both Hurso and Tala, and that there is absolutely no sign that anybody intends to change _that_, even among those who advocate full civil rights for the Hurso. As I said" – and now her smile was wrier than before – "it's a very rigidly structured society."

"Seems like it," Riker said, very dryly.

"The Tala state developed from a colonial government," Troi went on. "A government that both replaced and to some extent assimilated a large number of small, backward principalities. Apparently Tala society itself changed during the process, or at least it didn't develop in quite the way it might have under different circumstances. Today the official caste attaches almost as much importance to protocol and formalities as any small feudal state could. For example, they are a largely secular society, but there is a _ligor_ – the closest translation would be an emperor – of almost godlike status. I am under the impression that some of these traditions are beginning to erode, but that is my interpretation of the data they sent."

"And we're supposed to go along with all of that." Crusher put a little extra stress on the words.

"'Within reasonable limits'," Troi quoted.

"We'll see how it works out," the captain put in. "But yes, those are our orders."

"Just a friendly visit," quipped Riker.

"Just a friendly visit. And remember, we may not be the only people to come visiting."

"If the Cardassians came _visiting_ before us we will find a colony planet," commented Worf.

"That, too, is a possibility."

There was a brief silence. Then Picard turned to Data.

"I think this would be a good moment to tell us what you found, Mr. Data."

"Yes, sir." Data hesitated for a moment, a good approximation of what might have been a human's reaction. "I have already informed the captain of my findings, and they correspond to those of Admiral Haden's team. It is highly unlikely, if not entirely unthinkable, that the people of Belet-Irune could have constructed their probe without the aid of Federation technicians."

It took a moment. Then La Forge said: "_What_?"

"Didn't you say we don't know how they learned of us, Captain?" Riker asked.

"I did. There are no reports of any Federation ship ever reaching that sector. They may have received their information through some third party."

"O my God," Beverly Crusher muttered. "I'm beginning to see the ramifications."

"You said they know some things about us already." Riker turned to Troi. "How much?"

"The fact that we exist. The Federation's general character, location and size, although that information is considerably out of date, of course. The fact that we are ahead of them technologically, that we are capable of interstellar flight. Perhaps a great deal more, but I believe they are being cautious with their knowledge, which is quite interesting in itself. The data is almost exclusively about themselves. They evidently assume all members of the Federation to be humanoid – what _we_ would call humanoid – that is, more or less like them physically. They also assume that we share some of their attitudes, and the surprising thing is that we do. That uneasiness I mentioned, about some aspects of their society? Will, these are people trying to create a good impression. In a way it is almost frightening."

"So we're cast in the role of – what, supervisors?"

"We are nothing of the sort," the captain put in, very firmly.

"I thought the admiral said something about Belet-Irune's strategic importance."

"Yes, Will, he did. And we have been told to study the situation and establish friendly relations with these people, no doubt with the idea that they may become allies at some future stage. But we are not assessing them for anything at all."

"I bet Starfleet wants to know how they got their hands on that technology, though."

"That _is_ one of the things we have been asked to establish." Picard was sounding a little resigned Riker thought. "Let's just remember to keep an open mind."

"Is that what Admiral Haden told you, sir?" Riker raised his chin a little, but the captain didn't take him up on the challenge.

"No, Will, he didn't use those exact words. Counselor?"

"For the moment I am finished, Captain. I recommend another briefing when we reach Belet-Irune, but I'll have to do some more research before then."

"The amount of material is formidable. I am nowhere near finished myself," Picard said, as much to the others as to Troi. "Questions?"

"We have no idea how they'll react to our turning up there, twenty-three years after they launched that probe, right?" asked La Forge.

"No idea whatsoever," the captain confirmed.

"Is this a state visit?" inquired Crusher.

Picard gave her a slightly rueful smile. "Full ambassadorial status."

"Seems they're not the only ones trying to make an impression," commented Riker.

"No. They are not." For a moment he seemed to be on the brink of saying more, then he thought better of it. "We'll reconvene closer to our ETA. We have all the time we need to familiarize ourselves with the situation – at least the situation as they described it twenty-three years ago. Please, make use of it." He looked down the table, taking in the expressions of his officers. "If there are no more questions you are dismissed."

**- - - - - - - - -**


	4. Chapter 4

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 3**

"You really think all that is necessary?" The captain sounded slightly pained Troi thought, and he was looking decidedly unhappy. She did her best not to let her amusement show.

"I certainly believe it would help," she said, for the second time, disappearing behind her tea mug for a moment. And added: "Captain, your decorations are nothing to be ashamed of. And I am quite sure you have worn them before."

"The full set? At the last Admirals' Banquet I had the misfortune to attend," he replied with a sigh. "And even there I felt rather silly."

She was visiting in his quarters, at the captain's own request, to discuss points of procedure. Belet-Irune was two days away.

"Well, of course you _could_ go straight against Admiral Haden's strongly voiced recommendations... What in the world is that?" Picard had been about to lock the offending items away, but she was too quick for him. Her hand shot out, snatching a dully gleaming object roughly the size of a communicator. She looked at it with interest. "This looks Klingon to me," she stated.

"It is Klingon." He hesitated. "It… well, I received it after the Klingon civil war. Gowron probably felt it was the prudent thing to do."

"Gowron knew he owed the end of the war to you, not to mention his own position. You had served as arbiter of the Klingon Empire, at considerable risk, going well beyond what he could reasonably expect. I should say it was the least he could do. – You'll have to wear this, Captain. Unless I am very much mistaken it will create exactly the right impression on Belet-Irune."

"This is ridiculous. That thing… it's the size of a saucer. It belongs on a Klingon ceremonial cloak, not a Starfleet uniform. And I'm not at all sure I _want_ to create that kind of impression." He picked up a padd Troi had put down on the table. "Counselor, just look at it! Security detail of eight. Full dress uniforms. And the captain's yacht, as if –"

"But it would be difficult to fit all those people into a shuttle," Troi reminded him with a twinkle. "And we agreed that transporting in would be inadvisable."

"Well, I certainly don't want to expose them to more Federation technology than absolutely necessary. But the captain's yacht!" He pushed the padd away.

"I am reasonably sure they wouldn't think any of it excessive if they were in a position to judge it." She sat back in her chair to smile at him. "Which they aren't, admittedly – but Captain, from what I gather we should be prepared for an amount of pomp and circumstance. In fact you _know_ that we should."

"Yes, of course." Picard sighed again. "Very well. Did you speak with Worf regarding that security detail?"

"Yes, and he says he would still like to take Lieutenant Macaulay and Ensign Xian. Macaulay is an outstanding, level-headed officer, and he has great hopes for Xian. They will be wearing longer tunics to avoid giving offense, but barring an order from you that's as far as he is prepared to go."

"Quite right too. We're not going to pretend there are no differences between our cultures. Speaking of which, just how alien will they think us?"

"Physically, not very alien." She tilted her head a little. "With Will and Worf and the security our average height will not be much less than theirs, and the facial differences shouldn't be too much for them to adjust to. Don't forget, they are _hoping_ for a visit from outer space. Or hoped." She frowned briefly. "It's a little difficult to operate with information that is at the very least twenty-three years old, isn't it? – As for the cultural differences, that's something else entirely. But it will be largely up to you how much you tell them."

"Frankly, I wish I had a clearer idea of what to tell them… More tea?"

Troi hesitated, frowned slightly and then accepted with a tight little smile; for a moment he fully expected her to decline, get to her feet and take her leave instead. Not for the first time the captain felt that his counselor was debating something with herself. She had accepted his suggestion that they discuss things at their leisure readily, even, he thought, eagerly – as if she welcomed the privacy. Now she seemed slightly preoccupied if anything. He had even considered addressing the subject, and thought better of it. She would do it herself, at her own time, if she felt like it.

"I hope things won't get too trying for you there," he said instead, carefully refilling her cup.

"I shall naturally endeavor to do my duty," she replied, primly, and this time the smile she gave him a moment later was genuine. "Captain, it's not as if we hadn't had dealings with misogynist cultures before… I'll survive. I have a suspicion that one of Worf's reasons for taking Macaulay and Xian is that he thinks there should be someone to protect _me_, specifically. He is quite prepared for assassination attempts, by the way." "

"Oh," Picard said, a little blankly. "Well, if the situation is what these people described to us twenty-three years ago I should say the possibility is remote. But I have absolutely no doubt that Worf is – how did you put it? – _prepared_ for it."

"The point he made is actually very reasonable. If the records are anything to go by technological progress has benefited some classes in Belet-Irune society more than others, for obvious reasons – few Hurso have even been in a position to benefit from it. Unless that has changed a lot in recent years we may be seen as guests, even allies, of the ruling class. It may well cause bad blood."

"Point taken," he said with yet another sigh. "It's occurred to me as well. This visit isn't likely to close the rifts in that particular society – not that we're supposed to, of course… I confess, I haven't even managed to read all of this historical and sociological material. There's just too much of it. I don't know if you have been any luckier –"

"Not _all_ of it, not by a long shot," she said. "I've tried to concentrate on what we are actually likely to need."

"Same here." Picard reached for his own mug. "Could we go over those administrative structures again?"

**- - - - - -**

"Will," said Beverly Crusher with careful restraint, "this is _bad_. I know, I know, you've broken ribs before, but this borders on carnage. If you really have to participate in those calisthenics programs, why don't you remind Worf you're not a Klingon, just occasionally? It would save _me_ a lot of work to begin with."

Will Riker grimaced, half with pain and half with distaste. "Can't. You realize it's an honor when he forgets I'm not Klingon, don't you? Besides – ouch! – it was my fault entirely. Didn't pay attention. Stupid mistake. I'll do better next time." And with that he set his teeth and relapsed into a tense silence.

Crusher gave a small snort. "Right. It's called _asking for it_, then. Keep _still_," she added, sharply, on applying herself to a huge purplish-black bruise on his shoulder. Riker studied the large sensor cluster overhead, lips tight. As a matter of fact he had found himself wondering if he was getting rusty or careless, or if Worf really was hitting harder than he used to. And whether things would ever be the same again between Worf and Deanna and himself.

He still hadn't talked to either of them. Or to the captain either. And Belet-Irune was two days away.

"Doctor –" he began, hesitantly.

"Yes, Will?" Crusher's attention was focused on the dermal regenerator she was carefully running over a particularly nasty cut across Riker's upper arm. She was frowning a little with concentration.

"D'you know if Deanna… has she said anything about those holodeck outings recently?"

"Not really," said Crusher, sounding distracted. "That's… what do you mean, holodeck outings?"

What he meant – what he really wanted to ask – was something like: _Do you know if she's still trying to find romantic settings that might appeal to Worf?_ And – no, he realized a moment later, what he _really_ wanted to know was whether or not she had been talking to Bev about it, whether or not Bev knew something he did not – how Deanna felt, really felt, for example. About how it had come to nothing with Worf, and how much she knew about the _why_ of it, and _I'm fooling myself, right?_ he heard himself thinking, _as if we could hide something like that from her_, and now what he would have liked to ask was: _D'you think she could forgive us, ever? D'you think she'd even want to?_

But of course he did not say it. No way he'd ask Beverly Crusher such a thing. Instead he said: "Oh, nothing, really," and Crusher did not pursue the opening. Instead, she put the regenerator aside and stepped back with an air of authority.

"There. I don't suppose there's any point in reminding you that a bat'telh wound could easily be lethal, but I expect you to stay out of trouble for the next four days at least."

"I'll try," he said, absentmindedly, reaching for the remains of the shirt he had worn on the holodeck. In fact that part of it should be easy enough, he recalled a moment later. If he knew anything about it he wouldn't have much time for bat'telh practice once they reached that planet. And neither would Worf.

**- - - - - -**

"So _that_" – Geordi La Forge traced a finger along the irregular shape on the monitor – "is their main continent, and _this_ is the continent where they originated? And what's that odd-shaped thing?"

"It appears to be damage caused by a collision with some small object, possibly an asteroid," explained Data. "Beyond that it is of no informational value."

"Pretty dumb idea, putting this kind of data on the hull of an unshielded probe," grumbled La Forge. "I take it this is their system. Didn't they _know_ what this thing would look like after years of traveling? And that's the people we're meeting?"

"A depiction of a male and a female Girsu, which is their name for themselves," Data replied readily, enlarging the picture as he spoke. "The idea may have been to reassure whoever encountered the probe, and encourage them to take a closer look."

"Instead of just saying 'Oh look, a stray probe' and going about their business as they might do otherwise." La Forge nodded. "Yeah, makes sense. Actually, it looks kind of pretty. Let me guess – that gesture means something like _Greetings_."

"Admiral Haden's team believes it to be a gesture of invitation. It may well be both. That would be consistent with the message sent."

"And I bet you the captain would say that just because they look pretty much like us we shouldn't jump to conclusions because their body language may be unlike anything we've ever seen. Are you going down to that planet?"

"No. It would not be advisable. Artificial lifeforms are most definitely beyond their technology. I may have an opportunity to do a thorough survey of FGC-238.313 instead – assuming they grant us permission to do so, of course."

"That's another thing I don't like about assignments – when you have absolutely no idea how long this is going to take, or what it entails." La Forge stabbed idly at the computer. "Do they have a name for their system as well? I'd hate having to call it FGC-whatever for the rest of this assignment."

"Of course", said Data. "Their term for it is Dul Mageste. It means _Heart of the Universe_."

**- - - - - -**


	5. Chapter 5

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 4**

"It's beautiful," Troi said in wonder.

Even after hundreds of worlds that had appeared and disappeared on the _Enterprises_'s main viewscreen, Belet-Irune was beautiful. Deep blue and copper, with paler yellow specks that denoted mountain ranges and a small white polar cap, the whole half-veiled by spirals of cloud – it looked like a cadet's dream of new worlds waiting. Riker tilted his head appreciatively. Even Picard's face softened for a moment before he said: "Report, Data?"

"No other ships in orbit or within sensor range, sir. There are a number of satellites or probes that appear to be of local manufacture. Population approximately one billion, technological level corresponding to that of the second half of the twentieth century on Earth in most respects, much as described, sir."

Picard let out a tiny sigh of sheer relief. "So nobody has colonized this place," Troi said with a smile.

"What are the probes for? Are they likely to detect us?"

"I do not think so. Some at least appear to be weather monitoring satellites. Their range is quite limited."

"Very well. Shields up. Conn, put us in a high orbit. And Data, is there any way you can tap into their com system? I'd like to keep the confusion to a minimum. And if possible I would prefer speaking to someone like a secretary or Chief of Staff – a bureaucrat rather than some military man."

"I am trying, sir. I have worked with the data from the probe. They are using standard radio signals that are not difficult to duplicate unless… Captain, I am reading substantial numbers of ground-to-space missiles on the surface, as well as fighter aircraft that appear to be kept in readiness."

"I thought they had a planetary government," said Riker, sitting up straighter.

"They had, twenty-three years ago." The captain leaned forward as well, just a little. "But it's quite possible that these weapons aren't aimed at their own people."

"What… You mean they may be expecting an attack from outer space?"

"They may well be taking precautions. They know there are people out there."

"The missiles are incapable of leaving the atmosphere," Data put in, "and they are no match for even the most rudimentary shields."

"It's probably the best they can do." Riker leaned back in his chair, somewhat reassured. "Just hope those things _are_ aimed at threats from outside. And that they'll never encounter a _real_ threat from outside."

"Sir," said Data, "I believe I have found the _line_ connecting directly to the office of what would appear to be the head of this world's government in the city of Moga. Trying to establish a connection now – ah. The connection is established. It would seem that someone is listening now. I would advise addressing them now, Captain, before they break the link."

The captain promptly got to his feet and pulled his uniform tunic down, notwithstanding the fact that nobody on the planet would be able to see him, or to appreciate the gesture. "Greetings, Belet-Irune. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_. We are following an invitation the government of your world, represented by Governer Thana Ta'Arun Ongar, issued a little over seventeen turns ago. If this invitation still holds I would like to speak to a representative of the present government."

Silence. The faint hiss of static came back, and nothing else. The silence lasted so long that the captain was about to repeat the message when a voice came back, sounding high and breathless: "You are… that's, I mean, _where_ did you say you are from? How did you get on this line?"

Riker grinned. Troi smiled. Picard replied, with never a flutter to his voice: "This is the Starship _Enterprise_, representing the United Federation of Planets. We… decided to use this line because it seemed the most prudent course of action. We mean no harm to anyone on this planet. Would it be possible for me to speak to a representative of your government, please?"

There was a clanking noise that sounded uncannily like some piece of equipment being hastily put down, and then a quick tap-tapping sound, and then silence. Riker did his best not to snort. "What happened, Data?" asked Picard.

"It is a system that can be activated and deactivated manually, Captain. An incoming transmission manifests itself in some way, and the recipient decides whether or not to receive it. In this case someone decided to accept the message, probably believing an emergency to be at hand."

"You used an emergency channel?"

"I bypassed a number of intermediate lines and offices, Captain. It is very possible that a message arriving at this station without warning suggests an emergency. Unless I am much mistaken they will now either rerout your message, or go in search of a senior official qualified to reply."

There was a brief silence.

"I just hope we're not frightening these people to death," muttered Picard.

"Dropping the shields and letting them discover us without warning would have frightened them even more," Troi said reasonably. "I still believe this is the best way to go about it."

The captain was about to reply when the tap-tapping sound was repeated. Then a new voice came over the link, sounding harsh and forceful with barely a trace of nervousness: "What's this? Who's using this line? I'm warning you, if this isn't important –"

"I beg your pardon, sir," Picard said mildly, "but to whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

"This is Halé," the voice snapped after a very brief pause. "Not good enough for you?" And then there was another pause, and then the voice added, even more sharply: "Senna Arun Halé. Turië Interior Affairs. And now, who the _hanmat_ are you?"

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship _Enterprise_, representing the United Federation of Planets," Picard replied serenely. "I apologize for this intrusion, Minister, I was merely trying to avoid causing a major uproar. Of all possible ways of making contact this seemed the most promising."

"Hah!" said the voice, on what was almost a bark; then, after yet another a short pause, it added: "And _where_ are you?"

"The _Enterprise_ is in orbit around Belet-Irune at a height of approximately forty thousand meters. We will soon be directly above a large sickle-shaped archipelago extending west from your largest continent."

"I can't see you," the voice said curtly, displaying neither trust nor disbelief.

"We may be able to change that, Minister."

"Well, do it then, will you?"

Picard signaled to Worf to mute the audio. "All stop, Ensign. Mr. Worf, drop shields."

"What kind of technology will they be using, Data?" inquired Riker.

"Radar, I presume, Commander. The transmitting of electromagnetic radiation towards an object in order to gain information from the returning radiation regarding that object's position, speed and direction. It would be consistent with this planet's level of technological development. In fact it is quite possible that –"

"We are being scanned," Worf interrupted without compunction from behind and above. "It _is_ radar, sir."

"On audio, please. Minister, can you see us?"

There was a short silence. Then: "I can see something all right. You're telling me that's your vessel? And you say you're the people Governer Thana Ongar's team was trying to find? Sorry for that, but do you mind telling me just what the… well, what the craft bearing the message was called? I hope you'll understand, this is a little hard to take."

"Data?" Picard asked softly.

"The probe did indeed have a name, sir. It was called the _Enmaret_. The meaning of the term is _messenger_."

"Did you get that, Minister?"

"Yes, I did," the voice said, sounding gruffer than ever. "Look, I'm not saying I believe you, but right now I'm acting on the assumption that you are what you say you are. Only – do you mind standing by for the moment? I'll have to, well, inform some people. And do some checking," the voice added, belligerently.

"Of course," Picard said, unruffled. "Is it acceptable to you if we get back to you after completing this orbit?"

He could almost see the man down there doing some quick calculations. "Excellent," the voice said after a moment. "That will be just fine. We'll be waiting for your call, er, Captain. And, well, I suppose I should say welcome to our – to Belet-Irune, that is."

"Thank you, Minister," the captain replied. "Picard out."

"I should say that went quite well," said Troi after a moment.

"About five hours." Riker stretched his legs. "I just hope they don't use the time to call a planetwide alert. That guy sounded tough."

"He has amazing presence of mind," Troi agreed. "Nobody should be expected to keep his wits to that extent in this kind of situation."

"He reacted like a warrior," Worf rumbled from behind.

Riker turned to grin up at his colleague. Picard raised his eyebrows. "Well, Counselor?"

"If you're asking me if I can read them, Captain, I believe the answer is yes. If you are asking for my opinion of this man, the impression I am getting is of a rational, unimaginative mind. But let me get a little closer to them."

"We have five hours," said the captain, promptly getting to his feet. "I'll be in my ready room. You have the bridge, Number One."

**- - - - - - - -**

Down in Belet-Irune's capital city, in the monitoring room adjacent to the Inner Council's conference chamber, Senna Arun Halé, veteran of two governments and three civil wars, put the receiver down and fought a sense of paralysis.

_Those are _offworlders_ out there_, he heard himself registering, quite matter-of-factly. _I've just talked to an offworlder_.

He didn't really have any doubts regarding the things that – man – had told him. This wasn't a practical joke. A practical joker wouldn't have sounded so eminently… normal. He would have tried to sound offworldish.

Which by all appearances had to mean that Thana Ta'Arun Ongar, that so-called visionary, had been right about some things. They had never quite discounted the possibility, after all. At that moment Senna Arun Halé would have preferred it to be otherwise. He would have liked just to leave this room, return to his duties, rejoin the meeting of part of Turië's Inner Council a few steps down the corridor, and pretend that nothing had happened. For a moment he almost wished he hadn't asked for proof. Perhaps if he'd just treated this as an insolent joke, barked a threat and slammed the receiver down…

The enormous vessel would still have been in orbit. Doing Heaven knew what next to get their attention.

He pushed himself away from the monitoring desk. Said "Don't do or say anything" to the nervous clerk hovering at his elbow, and the even more nervous officer manning the radar half a complex away. Then he added, more forcefully: "You got that? _Nothing_. All of you. _Nothing at all_. That's an _order_." He waited for the acknowledgement before cutting the link, and stood there for a moment, trying to regain a sense of reality. In the end he turned on his heel and left the room, to stride smartly down the corridor. The four faces turning towards him when he entered the conference room were tense.

He stopped just inside the door. "True enough. It's _them_," he said curtly, just as his reputation for hard-headed brevity demanded he do, and then he went over to his chair and sat down heavily.

Ulaz Ta'Arun Sathene's face tensed even more, becoming a mask of concentration. The Economics minister, Keder Arun Anagar, drew one sharp breath and buried his face in his hands. The expression of the Hurso representative, Hirun Ta'Nemek Gontha, hardened. The fifth and youngest man at the table, Kamarzin Arun Rassa of Law and Justice, frowned. He was also the first to speak.

"Could someone tell me what's going on?"

When none of the others volunteered Halé took it upon himself to explain – and now even he found himself a little short of breath. "That probe, remember? Governer Ongar's probe program? Seems it found someone after all. There's –"

"They're here? _Right_ here?" demanded the governer, suddenly coming to life.

"They're in orbit. Tapped Line Yellow, told me the name of the probe – in Irunde, if you please. They'll be back after one orbit they said, which means about sixteen sere at their current speed. _Sixteen_."

"That's impossible," Minister Rassa said automatically.

"Tell that to the fellow on the ship, Kamarzin. The speed of that thing –"

"How big is the ship? How many of them? What are their intentions?" interrupted the governer.

"It's big. I didn't ask how many of them. And I don't know anything about their intentions. They sounded polite enough – I suppose if they wanted to blast us off the planet they could have done it without saying hello first."

"Oh, Gods," Minister Anagar muttered.

"So, what do we do?" asked Rassa.

"We…" Governer Sathene drew a breath. "We handle it," he declared. "Those people – Tamur only knows what they could do for us. We invited them, they're here. So." He reached for a writing pad on the table. "We get all necessary information on that probe, find out exactly what we told them at the time. Then we act true to our word. This is a state visit, gentlemen. These people are a delegation from another power. Let's act accordingly."

"They'll want something," cautioned Halé.

"Of _course_ they want something. We wanted something. They'll want something." Sathene was back in charge now – even if his hand was shaking slightly as he jotted down the notes. "But as you said yourself, they probably don't want to wage all-out war on us straight away."

"They may be… quite different from us." Minister Anagar's voice was notably unsteady.

"Then we'll have to improvise. But we do need a full diplomatic reception as soon as it can be arranged, and we need to create an impression of –" He interrupted himself, frowning; then he slowly turned his head to look at the one man who hadn't said a word during the entire exchange. "I'm sorry," he said, very sober all of a sudden. "This is… we'll get back to it as soon as possible. I promise. But this is bigger. This may be the greatest chance we've ever had," he said, his voice taking on a different, almost imploring tone. "You see that, don't you? And it concerns all of us. We'll need you to… to do your bit, Nemek. It'll be worth it. We need you to –"

"Don't worry about me, Governer," Hirun Ta'Nemek Gontha said coldly, not hearing him out. "I'll do my bit. In fact I'll be on my best behavior."

**- - - - - - - -**


	6. Chapter 6

**PRI****ME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 5**

"Come in," Troi called when the door alarm chirped, and turned away from the mirror. The door swished open to reveal Riker, in full dress uniform just as she was herself, a row of medals sparkling and gleaming on one black shoulder.

"Hello," he said as he came in. A little lamely he added: "Thought we might just as well go down together."

Troi frowned a little. Not because he was calling for her, although he had rarely done anything of the sort lately. What she felt from him was acute discomfort, and for once it had nothing do do with herself.

"You look very handsome," she said, simply to say something. A moment later she had become interested in earnest. "Why, Will – that's the Polaris Medal! I didn't even know you had that!"

"Yes, you did." Riker looked down at it with a thoroughly unhappy expression. "Matter of fact, you were there when they gave it to me. I suppose you had better things to think about at the time, and I don't blame you."

Troi's frown deepened. "Will, what's the matter?"

He sat down heavily in a chair. "D'you know, I somehow assumed the captain must have the thing too? Never occurred to me that he might not. And the other day I just mentioned it, and he said, no, he never received it."

"So?" said Troi, eyebrows raised.

"So I just wish I didn't have to wear the damn thing."

"Because they gave it to you after Wolf 359," she said. "Yes, I remember now."

Riker nodded glumly.

"Will, you can't seriously believe he'll even waste another thought on the fact that you've been awarded a decoration he doesn't have."

"No. Of course not – that's not it. I've just always felt that I… that I'd just – ah, well." He pushed himself up with a wry grin, taking note of her own appearance for the first time, and the glitter of medals on her uniform. "Well, I have to say – wow. Right, let's go down there and play Starfleet's finest, shall we."

The _Calypso_'s docking bay was awash with the black and amber of Security and Services. Worf was already there supervising, in his dress uniform, although Riker noticed with amusement that he had opted to wear his usual twenty-pound sash – no doubt because it made such a convenient repository for additional weapons. Worf had told him, in so many words, that he didn't like the idea of the captain going down to a troubled and completely unknown world.

"Nice show," Riker said softly, indicating the security detail. They were a handpicked group, although the two women were looking deceptively demure in the knee-length tunics over pants and boots that were regulation wear for occasions like this one.

Worf gave a brief approving grunt, and then the door swished open to admit the captain, who seemed to hesitate for a bare second before entering. The security and services personnel tried to crane their necks without appearing to. Troi turned away, struggling against a smile. Riker said, very softly: "Damnation."

"Commander?" said Worf.

"I don't believe this. I mean… Worf, what the hell _is_ that big thing?

"The Flame of K'Nor. It is one of the highest decorations of the Klingon Empire." Worf's eyes were shining with pride.

"The Pike Medal... Legion of Honor… and dammit, that's the Randolph Cross. I've seen that thing worn perhaps three times in my life." Riker grinned as the captain walked up to them, not quite meeting their eyes. "Hello, sir."

"If everything is ready we should be under way. We don't want to keep them waiting." Picard studied the _Calypso_'s open entry hatch as if he hadn't seen it in his life.

"Quite, sir. If the weight's too much you can always lean on my arm, sir," Riker offered, straight-faced.

"Thank you, Number One, but I'm bearing up quite well." The captain looked from face to face with a trace of irritation. "Could we get on with this?"

"Sir," said Worf with evident reluctance. "I have been considering. These people have never met anyone other than their own kind. My appearance is different from that of the rest of the away team. They may find it… disturbing."

The captain nodded. "I am aware of that, Mr. Worf. But let's not deceive them into thinking we live in an uncomplicated world."

"Yes, sir," said Worf, relieved.

Undocking was a smooth and elegant maneuver, with Worf looking over the shoulder of the helmsman he had assigned. The evening before when the _Enterprise_ had completed its first orbit they had been formally welcomed by a solemn-sounding man who had introduced himself as Ekur Este Zikané, the governer's secretary, and cleared for landing at the capital city's government airport at an hour which Data had identified as early afternoon. "Thus giving them time to prepare," as Riker had observed with a wry grin.

Moga, as Data had established earlier, was a city of well over six million inhabitants, Turië's largest city and located at the delta of the continent's largest river. Lieutenant Kioning, assured that the whole area had been cleared of air traffic, executed a wide loop over the muddy brown waters and came in at a graceful angle that not only allowed his passengers a fine view but also made sure that everybody down on the airfield would get a good look at his captain's yacht. He topped the performance with a flawless landing on a pad marked for them with gleaming red paint, switching off the engines a moment before the craft touched the ground so she settled noiselessly. Worf gave a small appreciative grunt that made Kioning straighten in his seat.

"Full honor guard outside," reported Riker. "Worf."

Worf nodded briefly to his security detail, who fell smartly into formation. When the hatch opened they exited first, fanning out immediately to face the honor guard, providing an immaculate backdrop of black and amber. Picard couldn't help noticing that the maneuver must have been planned and anticipated by his security chief. "Well," he said. "Let's go."

They stepped out into glaring sunlight and considerable heat. Ahead, at least a dozen long narrow banners in brilliant yellow twisted and curled on their poles against a dazzling sky. To their left some wind instrument started on a high strident-sounding fanfare the moment the four of them left the shadow of the _Calypso_. A moment later a sharp command on the right led into a smart drum roll. Picard squinted in the light, to see an angular figure stepping forward from the cluster of people ahead.

"Captain Picard?" the figure pronounced carefully, looking from Riker to Worf to himself. Picard took half a step forward, and the man turned towards him immediately. "I am Governer Ulaz Sathene, head of this world's government. I am… very pleased, very honored, to welcome you to Belet-Irune."

"The honor and the pleasure are mine," Picard replied, relieved to find that there was evidently at least some common ground here. "Please, let me introduce my officers. My second in command, Commander William Riker. Ship's counselor Commander Deanna Troi. Chief of Security Lieutenant Worf."

"Honored," the governer repeated, looking briefly at each of them as if to determine how to place them. Sathene was tall, about Worf's height, if somewhat slimmer, but then everybody in the governer's group was tall. Skin of a light brown tinged with purple, greenish eyes set under ridged eyebrows that slanted upwards almost like those of a Romulan, only that this man's eyebrows ran well into his shoulder-length graying hair. He had a long face with a sharp beak of a nose and an angular chin, and he was dressed in a pale gray, heavily belted tunic reaching to the knee, russet breeches and boots; silver braid trimmed the high collar and flared shoulders and sparkled dazzlingly in the glare of the sun. It was a costume that looked formal and elegant but would have suggested something of the uniform even if it hadn't been for the long ornate dagger in a sheath attached to the governer's belt.

"You have already spoken to Senna Arun Halé, our minister for Interior Affairs, and to my secretary, Ekur Este Zikané," Sathene continued. "This is Talië Ras Iban, commander of the Council Guard. And now allow me to escort you to our transport."

"Gladly," the captain replied, and the moment the governer turned in the direction of the vehicles waiting in the middle distance the honor guard presented arms with a smart clatter and stamp that would have made Picard start if he hadn't been prepared for something of the sort. The arms, he noticed in passing, looked like projectile rifles, held decoratively but very evidently not decorative in purpose. _Will was right_, he thought as they walked along the guard to the sounds of another fanfare and drumroll, _they may have a planetary government in name, but these people look as if they would fight at a moment's notice_.

The transports were six-wheeled ground vehicles, long and narrow, painted a dusky blue that rippled and gleamed in the heat. Trios of guardsmen cradling their rifles stood by. From the corner of his eye Picard saw Worf nod to Lieutenants Kioning and Macaulay – the Klingon had seen at a glance that the vehicles were designed to seat six, plus the driver and one security man in front, and that the secretary and the commander of the guard were already heading towards the second one in the row. That left the governer and the minister of Interior Affairs, who would evidently share a transport with the _Enterprise_ delegation.

They were proven right a moment later. "I hope you will do us the honor of joining us, Captain," Ulaz Ta'Arun Sathene said courteously as he led the way to the first of the vehicles. A guardsman opened the doors and stood back. The interior had two comfortable benches facing each other. There was a momentary hesitation as to the seating order which Riker resolved by choosing a seat next to the two politicians. Worf resigned himself, stony-faced, to sitting next to his captain when he would have preferred standing behind him; Riker noticed with silent amusement that the Klingon had memorized the entire layout of the vehicle by the time he sat down. The moment the transport started moving four smaller vehicles, heavy but maneuvrable-looking things, closed in to flank them. And when they left the airfield another had taken position in front of them, a dark four-wheeler full of armed guards.

"Just security measures," Senna Arun Halé said curtly on noticing the captain's evident interest. "Better safe than sorry."

"What kind of danger are you expecting?" inquired Worf.

"We're not _expecting_ anything, fortunately," the minister growled. "But you never know. You people and the two of us, that would make a worthwhile target."

"You must realize that your arrival constitutes nothing less than a sensation," the governer put in, sounding quite matter-of-fact. Picard still recognized the cue.

"Even after your… predecessor dedicated very considerable resources to finding us?" he asked.

"That was more than seventeen turns ago, Captain, and although it was widely publicized at the time I frankly don't think many people were exactly expecting you yesterday. Thana Ta'Arun Ongar was not even my _immediate_ predecessor. Three governers held office between him and me." He allowed a second to let it sink in. "Don't misunderstand me," he said then. "I am thrilled. I never would have thought – Captain, we'll have a little time to discuss matters of mutual interest?"

"As much of it as you wish. That's why we are here," Picard replied and immediately felt the mood lightening. _What did they expect_, he found himself thinking, and then: _What would_ I _have expected from a bunch of strangers from space?_

"Then I am delighted to invite you and your officers to be our guests for as long as you choose to stay," Sathene announced. "We have scheduled a cabinet dinner for tonight – provisionally, of course. If you would do us the honor of attending –"

"We wouldn't miss it. I'm looking forward to learning more about this world."

"Then you shall." The governer almost smiled – that deepening of the lines around his mouth couldn't possibly be anything but a smile, the captain decided. "To be honest, we were hoping for that kind of answer. We have a lot of questions ourselves – but these things can wait." He indicated the view outside. They were driving along a wide street between large stone buildings, many of them set back behind squares of carefully trimmed vegetation and many adorned with elaborate stairs and porticos. Banners in the same brilliant shade of golden yellow were fluttering from tall poles lining the street – which was deserted, the captain couldn't help noticing, but for the occasional rifle-bearing, russet-clad patrolman. "This is the administrative quarter. It is not the scenic route, but it _is_ the shortest route from the government airport to the Council Building."

Picard gave a polite answer, noting as he did that security seemed to be a matter of some concern to the governer. The next minutes passed with mutual pleasantries, Riker joining in, Worf and Troi observing in silence just as the minister for Interior Affairs was observing them. The buildings on either side, the captain noted, were closer together now, and looked older. At last the convoy swerved sharply to the right. On both sides guardsmen stood to attention. A huge gate flashed past, and Picard had a brief impression of a vast open square before the vehicle stopped in front of a massive flight of stairs.

"Council Building," the governer said. "It is where guests of state are accommodated. I thought you might wish to see the suites we have assigned. Of course if there is anything I can offer you – a tour of the complex, perhaps –"

_He wants to make arrangements_, thought Picard just as two guardsmen opened the doors of the vehicle. "We'd appreciate it – but at your convenience, sir", he said. "We'll be fine."

The sunlight outside seemed brighter than before if anything. Another honor guard had been drawn up opposite the stairs, in uniforms of scarlet and black, the three colorful banners over their heads barely stirring – the courtyard kept out most of the breeze they had noticed earlier. Picard looked up at the Council Building towering above the flight of stairs, squinting in the glare. The front, tilted backwards a little and broken only by one row of narrow slot-shaped windows high up, must be two hundred meters in length, and the eight colossal pillars flanking the entrance dwarfed everything that went on in their shadow. Pale yellow stone, beginning to crumble a little with age; the whole gigantic structure reminded him of something he had seen back on Earth, but he didn't have the time to trace the memory to its source.

He turned back to the others just as the other transports pulled up behind the first, engines roaring to a stop. The huge courtyard, too, was almost empty he noticed – there was the unit of soldiers drawn up for their welcome, and he did see people scattered about in the distance, a small group gathered in a doorway, a hundred meters away in the shadow of one of the stately but more modest buildings opposite, but they looked lost on the huge expanse of sun-baked stone. And when the officer commanding the honor guard sang out a sharp command, and the men drew what he recognized a moment later as sabres, or something very close, the sharp ring and the brilliant flash of the presented blades had an unreal quality in the dwarfing silence all around.

It hadn't escaped the notice of his officers either. Picard saw both his first officer and his counselor start very slightly at the smart martial salute, but a moment later they both took their cue from Sathene, who nodded curtly in the direction of the soldiers but turned away at once, and Troi remarked gently: "It is very quiet – I just hope our arrival hasn't brought all government business to a standstill, Governer."

"If that should be the case," said Picard, "please believe me that we have no intention of disrupting things. We are not a danger to anyone or anything on this world."

Ulaz Ta'Arun Sathene appeared genuinely embarrassed. "I am… thank you, Captain, it is most kind of you to say so."

"Well, we just didn't know what to expect," Halé put in with the bluntness they were already growing used to. "This place will be swarming soon. It usually does. In fact I'll give the all-clear right away."

"Please, come with me," the governer said. "I will see you to your suites. My secretary will look after your escort. Perhaps we will be able to work out a provisionary schedule later today?"

It was evidently meant as a question, so Picard answered in the affirmative. They allowed themselves to be escorted up the gigantic steps, the governer explaining that some members of the cabinet were away on business. "But under the circumstances we are expecting them back very soon," he added as he stepped back, letting them precede him through a doorway at least five meters high.

The hall was huge and echoing, its ceiling supported on more massive pillars and lost in twilight. The cool and dimness were a relief after the glare outside. Picard took a deep breath, feeling the air cooling his burning face, and then suddenly it hit him. This building must have been a fortress or a palace, or perhaps even a gigantic temple, centuries ago. It certainly didn't look like the seat of a modern government. It was as if someone had taken over a relic from a much older time, adapting it, perhaps, but not transforming it – not wholly. _And they would have had the means to do it_, he found himself thinking, _for a long time now_. He would have to ask Sathene or someone about it, he thought, banning the sudden unease from his mind.

**- - - - - - - -**

It was only when they had been shown to their quarters, suites of spacious ornate rooms all opening on a long rectangular anteroom the size of a small courtyard, that he had an opportunity to speak with his officers. Sathene had taken his leave, and the attendants he had left behind had finally disappeared as well, and the four of them were sitting near the windowed end of the anteroom by a small stone basin with a fountain that filled the air with its ceaseless splashing.

"First things first," Riker said, tapping his combadge. "Riker to _Enterprise_ sickbay."

"Hill here," a voice answered seconds later. "How can I help you, Commander?"

"Simple. There's a tableful of refreshments in this room. Just beam some of this stuff up and have a look at it. I have a feeling it'll be all right, but it seems we'll attend a formal dinner tonight, and I'd like to make sure we can eat their food."

"Of course. Right away, Commander. Hill out."

"Hope they're quick about it," Riker said to the others. "I'd like a drink." He grimaced and opened the collar of his dress uniform, although the air in the huge high-ceilinged room was cool by comparison with the glaring heat outside. Troi had found what looked like a delicate wooden fan and was fanning herself vigorously. Worf sat upright and unreadable, the medals on his uniform glinting.

"So much for that," said the captain, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. "Impressions? Counselor?"

"Well." Troi lowered her fan and thought for a moment. "They were honest enough about what they told us, but of course they didn't tell us much. As one would expect I am getting a mixture of hopes and fears and contradictory attitudes from both of them. As well as enormous relief, which is quite disarming in a way." She smiled briefly. "The governer is actually quite shaken. The minister isn't, not really – he strikes me as someone who is habitually expecting the unexpected. An old soldier probably." She turned her head to look at Worf, who gave one brief nod.

"Regarding something you said earlier," Riker put in, "they seemed quite comfortable with the fact that you're a different race, Worf. Relatively speaking."

"Yes, I noticed that too," said Picard.

"Don't attach too much importance to it, Captain. Very probably they have been steeling themselves to meet people with four heads walking on tentacles. I'm not entirely sure they _see_ Worf as belonging to a different race." Troi tilted her head a little. "No, if any of us scandalized them it was you."

"I did?" The captain was quite surprised. "How?"

"What you said about not wishing to disrupt things, not being a danger. It was a mild shock to both of them. I don't know why. They had been… surprised, and not pleasantly, when I remarked on the silence, and when you elaborated you made it worse."

"As far as I remember those were perfectly innocent remarks," said Riker.

"Yes, Number One, they were. By our standards at least." He thought for a moment. "I can't imagine much harm could have been done. We'll just have to tread carefully. – Did anyone else get the feeling that they were quite concerned about security?"

"Yes," Riker said emphatically. Troi nodded.

"They had been shutting off the entire route," Worf said without a trace of doubt. "From this… _airfield_ to the government complex. I saw people watching from windows, but not many. They must have discouraged people from even looking at us. They were afraid of us, but still more of other things. Captain, this is a dangerous world."

**- - - - - - - -**


	7. Chapter 7

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 6**

The Inner Council's banqueting room was a pillared octagonal hall surmounted by a cupola and lit by what looked like dozens of electrical sconces. Governer Sathene was waiting for them at the door.

"I trust you were able to rest, Captain," he greeted Picard as soon as the secretary who had accompanied them had disappeared. "Commander… Commander… Lieutenant. Allow me to introduce you to some members of the Inner Council you haven't met. We were hoping Aunun Arun Lesté of Planetary Coordination would be back today, but his business will keep him away for a few days longer I am afraid. But here are Kamarzin Arun Rassa of Law and Justice and Keder Arun Anagar, from Elmen Archipelago, of the Economics department, and this is Zor Arun Rigeté, in charge of Seas and Islands Affairs."

"A pleasure," Picard said readily, trying to meet the three mens' eyes in turn. Rigeté gave him a wary nod. Anagar avoided him, and in fact took the first opportunity to draw back. Rassa, on the other hand, stared at the four of them with undisguised and excited curiosity. "I'd better warn you," he said the moment the introductions were over. "There are things I want to ask you. I hope you'll have an hour or two for me."

"I shouldn't be at all surprised, Minister. From what we have been talking about with the Governer's secretary we will be here for a little while."

"And this," Sathene continued before Rassa could answer, "is Hirun Ta'Nemek Gontha, the Cabinet's Hurso representative. A minister in all but name, as I am sure you know from Governer Ongar's message."

"We do indeed", said the captain, wanting very much to ask if things had changed at all since then. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Ta'Nemek."

"Likewise," Gontha replied with an abrupt little inclination of his head. "Incidentally, Captain, _Speaker_ will be quite all right as an address. There's really no such title as _Ta'Nemek_, although of course it's supposed to sound better than a simple _Nemek_."

"As you wish, Speaker," Picard answered, a little startled without letting it show. He also noticed the look Governer Sathene gave Gontha. A moment later the brief uneasiness had been glossed over by the two politicians.

"Please, Captain, take a drink," the governer said, taking two small metal goblets from a tray presented to him by a waiter and handing him one of them. The Hurso and the three officers helped themselves. "The drink before dinner is a custom of this world," explained Sathene. "It is a symbol of hospitality and harmony. I believe," he added with the first flash of humor Picard had seen in him, "it was also meant to convey that nobody is out to poison anybody as it is always taken by everyone at the same time, out of identical cups. May this visit of yours prove beneficial to both our worlds, Captain."

"There's little anybody could add to this, Governer," replied Picard, and drank. He had been prepared for something quite strong, but the liquid in the goblet still took his breath away. He could hear Troi at his elbow gasping slightly. Even Riker's eyes widened in momentary disbelief.

"Some drink, Governer," the first officer managed. Eyes watering a little, the captain could only agree – and be grateful that Sathene's attention was elsewhere for the moment.

"You don't like it, Commander?"

"On the contrary," Riker replied promptly, if a little hoarsely. "I do. We have something that's rather like it." He took a quiet step in front of Troi, who was still fighting for breath.

"And do you serve it at similar occasions?"

"No. For occasions such as this we have something a little less, er, powerful. But the principle is the same."

"It seems we have quite a lot in common after all," Sathene said, pleased. "It is a pity you will not be staying with us much longer, Commander."

"Oh, but I will – a couple of days certainly," said Riker. "After that – well, someone's got to look after the ship."

"We will try to show you a little of our world while we can. Captain, my secretary tells me that you have been displaying incredible patience over that schedule of his. I still have a feeling we are asking rather much of you."

"You are asking exactly what we were sent here to establish," Picard answered serenely. "Contacts, mutual understanding, an opening. That's what we do, after all. Commander Troi, the lieutenant and I will be very happy to stay a while longer."

"While your ship remains in orbit?" asked Hirun Ta'Nemek Gontha, in what seemed to Picard like a deliberate effort to join the conversation.

"Well, actually, I've been wondering if we could take a closer look at this system," said Riker. "With your permission of course, Governer. I'll tell you one thing, it can be infernally boring, waiting for the captain for days on end."

"I'll have to speak with some of my colleagues, Commander, but I don't suppose that will be a problem." Sathene cast a quick look over his shoulder. "That's the steward signaling. Shall we sit down?"

The table was polished wood with metal inlay, oval, a little lower than what Picard was used to, and set on a slight dais, and the ministers seemed to know their places despite the unusual dinner party. He found himself at one end of the table, with Riker on his right, Worf on his left and Troi almost hidden from sight by Riker's broad shoulders. The governer was opposite, and the place on Troi's right was taken by the quiet Anagar of Economics. Picard noticed the smile his counselor gave the minister, and Anagar's sudden interest in an arrangement of small decorative metal bowls in the center of the table.

"This dinner," Sathene explained, "will be made up of traditional dishes. We thought it the most, well, appropriate approach. – I very much hope I am not putting you to any… that is to say," he added, a little hesitatingly, "will you be, er, comfortable eating our foods?"

Picard smiled. "We will," he assured the governer, to Sathene's evident relief, watching as waiters appeared at precisely the same moment behind everyone seated at the table and a tiny, beautifully chased metal bowl of what looked like clear yellow soup was set before him. A short metal spoon appeared along with it. With a certain relief the captain noted that the drink in the high goblets of frosted glass and metal looked like what they had found among the refreshments in their quarters as well – water, by all appearances, but with a faint, pleasant, slightly tangy flavor. "Governer," he said, "would you tell me what this is?"

"It's water," Sathene said, sounding a little startled. "I… I'm not a chemist, Captain, but water…"

"Forgive me," Picard corrected himself, amused. "I didn't put this very well. Water I'm familiar with. But this taste –"

"Ah!" For a moment Sathene almost grinned, unmistakably, and one or two of the ministers did the same. "I see. It's a fruit called lissé. Very hard, quite pungent, in fact barely edible at all. But perfect for flavoring, especially as its juice is mildly antiseptic."

"In poorer regions well water is not always entirely safe," Gontha added matter-of-factly. "When the water is flavored it usually means you can drink it without worrying."

Sathene rose to his feet when the waiters had withdrawn. "Gentlemen," he began rather formally, and silence fell immediately as the ministers rose as one. The _Enterprise_ four followed suit, and the captain noticed that many of the sconces had been extinguished, leaving the hall in twilight and the table alone illuminated. "With this meal," said Sathene, voice ringing beneath the cupola overhead, "we accept the gifts of the land we have undertaken to rule and to guide, and the burden of responsibility that goes with the gifts. Let us remember those obligations, and our duties to those that look to us."

"Yes, let's," Gontha said rather brusquely. Several of the ministers murmured affirmations before resuming their seats und picking up their spoons. Picard would have liked to look at Troi, to find out if she shared his fleeting unease, but it would have been too conspicuous. The soup was hot and spicy, seeming to scald his throat as he swallowed. It was good, if not quite the type of food he would have chosen on the evening of a blazing day – although the hall must have some kind of ventilation system; the temperature was quite bearable.

"I have been thinking," the governer said over the clinking of spoons, "and I have decided to postpone the cabinet discussion that was scheduled for tomorrow. We'll still convene, but we'll use the opportunity to answer any questions you might have about us, and –"

"As well as ask a great many of our own," Halé interposed with grim amusement.

"And do the groundwork for our _mutal understanding_, as you put it earlier, Captain," Sathene continued pointedly. "Thank you, Minister, that was quite unwarranted."

"They'd have to be fools not to expect it," Halé replied, unimpressed. "Tell me one thing, Captain. Whatever you usually do on that vessel of yours, you've had your share of diplomatic assignments, am I right?"

Picard looked up, eyes crinkling. "Yes, Minister. I can't fathom what it was that gave us away, but yes, you are."

"What _is_ it you people do?" the youngest of the group – Kamarzin Arun Rassa, the captain reminded himself, Law and Justice – asked, evidently grasping the opportunity. Riker took over without so much as a glance from his captain.

"Well, most of the time we gather information," he said. "Scientific, cultural, deep-space exploration. And we serve as a diplomatic envoy wherever necessary, which is where those _assignments_ come in, Minister. And sometimes the _Enterprise_ is involved in all sorts of emergency scenarios. We've been known to ferry vaccines," said Riker with a brief grin, and Picard thought he could hear a very soft snort coming from Worf on his right.

"Just how many vessels do you have? I mean, vessels like yours, capable of interstellar flight?" inquired Rassa.

"I can't honestly answer that. I have no idea," Riker replied, and Picard decided to change the subject before the conversation touched things they couldn't discuss – as it probably would very soon if Rassa had his way.

"We'll have time for all that," he assured the minister. "In fact I have a feeling you know quite a lot about us already" – and just then the waiters reappeared like silent ghosts, removing the empty bowls and replacing them with small, ornate containers topped by equally ornate lids. They had three feet and came with an instrument that had a spoon at one end and a paddle-shaped blade at the other, and when he lifted the cover he found a soft-shelled, pale pink, globular item the size of a small peach.

"This is crai," Sathene explained, and he realized that the governer must be watching him closely. "The unhatched reproductive capsules of the buruk… that's a large gill-breathing creature inhabiting the southern seas."

_Eggs_, he thought, and a moment later corrected himself, amused: _Well, caviar, actually_. He looked over at the governer, and saw Sathene slicing the thing's shell – carefully and slowly, evidently quite aware that he was being watched in his turn. When Picard copied the maneuver he discovered a pale jelly-like substance inside enclosing a walnut-sized kernel. It looked and smelled edible enough, but nobody was eating it. Instead, the ministers used the combined spoon and knife to extract the kernel which alone was eaten. He realized that the ornate containers that had been set on the table too were used to dispose of the rest, and followed suit with a mental shrug.

"This buruk," Troi said, all polite interest, "how large is it? I've seen large fish before, but this must be spectacular." The question was aimed at her neighbor as much as the governer, but Minister Anagar didn't answer, becoming very interested in the contents of his goblet instead.

"It grows to about twenty meters," Sathene said after a rather noticeable pause. "It's edible, actually. Some of the islanders still hunt it." He sat back as the waiters returned, waiting for them to remove the remains and the containers and refill the goblets to prepare for the next course. It consisted of what looked like bits of meat on small square plates, accompanied by strips of flatbread and skewer-like utensils with intricate wooden handles. The governer gave Picard a covert look, saw the captain watching him, and picked up his skewer.

"Is it… that is to say, would you mind telling me something, Counselor Troi?" Minister Rassa asked quite suddenly from the other side of the table.

Troi looked up, smiling. "Probably not, Minister. It depends."

Picard thought he could see Sathene's face tensing at that, and from the minister on Sathene's right – Rigeté, he remembered after a moment, the man who hadn't said a word so far – he heard a brief sound like a snort or a cough. Rassa swallowed, hesitated and took the plunge. "What does a counselor do?"

"Oh!" Troi put her skewer down. "A number of things. A counselor is responsible for the well-being and, well, equilibrium of a ship's crew. Imagine a mission of… well, some duration – it can be quite stressful. I am also involved in crew evaluations. And then of course the counselor acts as an adviser to the captain on all sorts of decisions – diplomatic, command, quite a variety of them."

"And you do all these things? You… advise your captain?"

"Yes." Troi picked up the skewer and carefully speared a piece of meat, seemingly oblivious of the utter silence all around, and the fact that not one of the ministers was eating at that moment. "I have been working on the _Enterprise_ for seven years now," she added before putting it in her mouth.

"Ustak," Rassa said, in a tone Picard couldn't quite interpret.

Troi swallowed her bite. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are _ustak_ to your captain," he said, and now Picard thought he had it. Astonishment coupled with reckless curiosity, and an element of nervous exhilaration – a man venturing into unknown territory. A moment later he added: "A professional adviser. Every minister has a couple of them. The ligor has about a dozen."

"Thank you." She tilted her head inquiringly. "In the correct sequence that would make me… Deanna Ustak Troi, is that correct?"

"_Yes_," said Rassa, a little breathlessly, the precise moment Hirun Gontha snorted: "Not exactly."

Troi raised her eyebrows in mild curiosity, and Riker tilted his head to say: "Now that sounds interesting."

"Begging your pardon, Commander, but the term that would fit the bill in _this_ case would be _ustaket_. And I am very much afraid it doesn't exist."

"It's grammatically feasible," Rassa said curtly, reaching for his own skewer. "I really don't see… but never mind. Forgive my curiosity, Counselor, I had no intention of embarrassing you."

"But you didn't." Troi dipped up some sauce with a strip of her bread before looking up again to smile at him. "Not at all, Minister. We can continue any time you like. By the way, this is delicious. What is it?"

Picard breathed a sigh of relief. He had felt Riker on his right bristling uncharacteristically. Sathene accepted the new opening with alacrity.

"It's the flesh of a local bird called _leké_, about this size" – and he outlined something halfway between a chicken and a turkey. "As a matter of fact this is a traditional Hurso dish. Gontha here would be able to tell you all about how it should _really_ taste."

"Well," Gontha admitted, apparently somewhat placated, "you _may_ be served it again if you do any traveling at all on this world."

"I hope we will," said Picard. "In fact your secretary mentioned a few possible tours, Governer."

"No doubt," Sathene replied rather dryly. "Of course I don't know how many turns you intend to spend here, Captain –" and it came out sufficiently casual to make a few of the ministers snort. Even Riker grinned, and a minute later the waiters cleared the table and brought the next course. It looked and smelled like a type of vegetable stew, served in tiny metal bowls with elaborately worked bases and accompanied by spatula-shaped spoons.

"By the way," Minister Halé asked, "what the _hanmat_ did you mean when you said we know everything about you already, Captain? We don't know a thing. You've dropped in on us out of nowhere."

"Well, not quite out of nowhere," Picard replied serenely. "After all you knew quite well where to find us. It was a remarkable engineering feat on the part of Governer Ongar's scientists."

"He had some good people on his team," admitted Sathene.

"He was a visionary," Minister Anagar said quite suddenly, speaking for the first time, and the _Enterprise_ party almost started.

"And an idealist, no doubt." Picard leaned forward a little to catch the minister's expression.

"_And_ an idealist, Captain Picard. He could see beyond this world's troubles."

"Until they caught up with him," Halé said dryly.

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Then Sathene put his spoon down. "I don't think we need to bother the captain with _that_," he said, and although he kept his voice perfectly polite Picard had a feeling that he was dealing out a fierce rebuke.

"Belet-Irune would be the first world we visited without troubles of its own," he calmly put in. "And there have been a great many of them, and I am not making an exception of my own."

"What's your world called, Captain?" Minister Rassa asked, sounding as eager to add to his store of knowledge as he was to gloss over the momentary unpleasantness.

Picard smiled briefly. "Terra."

Rassa was opening his mouth to ask his next question when the Hurso representative snapped: "To the best of my knowledge even Governer Ongar didn't hesitate to _bother_ these people with the facts about this world, Sathene!"

There was another silence, brief but telling, just long enough for Picard to hear the governer drawing one carefully controlled breath. Then Sathene said icily: "I really believe these things can _wait_, Gontha" – and as if to underline the point he flung up his hand to signal, curtly, for the waiters. Who had, of that the captain felt quite sure, appeared without having been signaled for every time before. The silent figures materialized a moment later.

Picard leaned back in his rather uncomfortable chair while his near-empty bowl was removed, feeling a little stunned. At the same time he made a mental note to get to the bottom of the issue as soon as possible.

"Naturally Governer Ongar is of some interest to us," he said gently. "After all he was the man who contacted us in the first place."

Gontha gave one brief tense nod. "Forgive my outburst, Captain. In many respects he was a great man, and I have no wish to deny him this honor."

"Good for you," Minister Halé remarked with an undertone of sardonic humor that did more to restore a semblance of harmony than Sathene's attempt at damage control. Gontha responded with an unwilling little snort and lifted the lid off the container that had been set before him.

"Lieutenant Worf," the irrepressible Rassa asked over the rim of his goblet, "if you don't mind my asking, what does a Chief of Security do on a vessel like yours?"

Picard felt Worf start. The Klingon had probably come to the comfortable conclusion that he wouldn't be required to speak all evening.

"It is my duty to watch over the ship and its crew." Worf frowned at the fifth course. It was soup again, thick and cream-colored this time. "The security officer handles communications and sensor equipment too. But protecting others is my chief duty."

"So your work can be dangerous?" Rassa was looking at Picard and Riker as he said it.

"Just occasionally," Riker said lightly. "There are always a few unweighables involved."

"Why don't you tell us a little more about _your_ civilization?" Picard interposed before the conversation could drift further towards yet another fraught topic. He had no intention of telling Sathene and his ministers more about the dangers of starship duty than absolutely necessary. "After all we are the strangers here. This visit is about your world, not about ours."

"Very well," the governer said after a moment, readily enough it seemed. "What is it you would like to know?"

**- - - - - - - -**

"Christ," Riker groaned, much later, when the four of them had finally found their way back to their quarters and had managed to get rid of the attendants assigned to them. Two of Worf's security were quietly walking up and down the corridor outside the anteroom, having been shown there not by Worf or Riker but by the commander of the Council Guard, Talië Ras Iban. "Just let me know if there's some other way we can screw up tonight. Not that anything comes to mind" – and the first officer dropped into one of the chairs by the fountain and stretched his legs.

"Are you going to ask for my opinion on this evening, Captain?" Troi inquired.

Picard nodded wearily as he sat down on the edge of the basin. "Yes, Counselor."

"Well, they were all tense before we joined them, which is at least _part_ of the reason there were so many lost tempers." Troi's voice was a little more clipped than usual, and if she was aware of it she made no effort to control it. "Not surprising, of course. The governer, Minister Halé and the Hurso representative all have their own agendas regarding this visit, and they are not entirely compatible. Minister Rassa is exactly what he appears to be – quite simply bursting with curiosity. And Rigeté and Anagar are afraid of us, but of course you noticed that. They are all pretty much overwhelmed by the situation. There is also an amount of bad conscience from several of them – as if they felt they had raised expectations they cannot fulfil."

"We're not here to inspect them."

"No, Captain, and you did your best to convince them of it. But the point is not whether or not _you_ are expecting anything. _They_ want to present themselves in a certain way, and they are terrified of not meeting the criteria."

"Governer Sathene tries to present a unified front," commented Riker. "That was pretty obvious. And they're not as unified as all that, not even about our being here. Not even about having invited us in the first place I should say. There's something about this Thana Ongar that has them all on edge. Now I _really_ want to know what's been happening here since then."

"Well," Troi said slowly. "I have been doing some calculations. According to the probe material a normal term of office for a governer is three _gola_ – three of their turns. They can be reelected several times, unless that has changed since then. Earlier today Sathene mentioned that he is the fourth governer since Thana Ta'Arun Ongar, who was in office seventeen _gola_ ago, and I think he also mentioned his _first_ term of office, meaning that he is now in his second at least. It may be relevant or not, but it does imply a lot of fluctuation before Sathene became governer, doesn't it?"

"Only one of those predecessors could have had a second term," Riker said after a moment, thoughtfully. "Or else somebody didn't even complete his first. Yes. You do get the impression they've been through some tumultuous times fairly recently. And this Gontha fellow – what's eating him, for Heaven's sake?"

"A lot of things, Will." Troi appeared to be considering for a moment. "I won't give you any specifics," she said then. "Tomorrow perhaps when I have sorted through it all. It's been a long day."

Picard slid off his perch. "Let's get some rest, shall we?"

**- - - - - - - -**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: There is a _dramatis personae_ at the bottom of this chapter, featuring everybody from Belet-Irune to appear in it and who has a name. I have a feeling that it may come in useful, because this story is going to get more complicated, and may make this a regular feature.

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 7**

They met in the morning for a breakfast that had been set out on trays and small tables by the fountain. The captain noted with amusement that his officers (and no doubt he himself) were looking notably more comfortable in their duty uniforms.

"Did you sleep well, Captain?" inquired Troi while lifting the cover off a plate of small steaming cakes.

He nodded. The rooms, oversized and ornate as they might be, were pleasantly cool and well-equipped in a manner that had struck him as Oriental, in the cultural terms of his own world. A bathroom half the size of his quarters on the _Enterprise_. A jug of the flavored water on a table in the bedroom, beaded with moisture and accompanied by not one but two cups; a covered bowl containing what looked like biscuits – he had done no more than look at them and replace the lid. And a long robe made of some light flowing material that would have been very welcome had he intended to do some reading, or even chess-playing, before retiring for the night – for there was a board as well, and although neither the grid nor the pieces were at all familiar he was determined to learn more about the game before he left.

As it was, all he had done was to give Data on the _Enterprise_ a very brief overview of events before going to bed.

"I did – thank you. And you too, I hope."

"Once I had grown used to the sound, yes. My bedroom has latticework shutters. I thought it would be nice to have some night air in the room, so I opened a window. The sound of the wind in the latticework was very peculiar."

"It is a large enclosed garden. All our windows appear to overlook it. There may be more guest quarters, and another garden, on the other side of that corridor." Worf indicated the wide doorless arch that connected their anteroom with the corridor outside.

Riker threw Picard an amused look. The _Enterprise_'s Chief of Security had evidently found time for a private stroll – or perhaps he had had one of his subordinates report to him. "How are your people doing, Worf?"

"Their quarters are adequate. There have been no incidents," said Worf, helping himself to what looked like cold meat.

"There's something odd about this place," said Riker, answering the thought rather than the words. "That dinner last night – I don't know, it was weird somehow. Even disregarding the conversation," he added with a wry grimace.

"Almost like a potentate's banquet," Picard said thoughtfully.

Troi nodded. "Very much so. Very… staged, very ostentatious. It seemed to call for an audience, with that lighting and all those waiters. Fourteen courses altogether I believe. A lot of metal – precious metals unless I'm very much mistaken. And I noticed that you memorized that… grace, or toast, or whatever it was, Captain."

"The land we have _undertaken_ to rule and guide. Yes. It does sound a little like an assertion of power, doesn't it?"

"Just because they were conquerors a few centuries ago there's no need to go on about it." Riker frowned. "Is that _coffee_ you're drinking, Deanna?"

"No." Troi set her goblet down, looking round for another cake. "It's more like some type of tea, with spices in it. But it's hot." And then there was a moment when both Riker and Worf reached for the cakes to pass them to her, and both started and drew back, and Picard looked up sharply at the sudden silence.

"Counselor?"

She gave him a brief smile. "Could you pass me those cakes, Captain? Thank you. I've just remembered something else – to the best of my knowledge it wasn't in the data from the probe, but I may have missed it. After last night I think it may be significant. I don't know if you noticed anything in particular about the color scheme at that banquet…"

Governer Sathene's secretary arrived soon afterwards, entering and waiting modestly just inside the arch until Riker spotted him. "Hello, Secretary. Are you here to show us the way to the Council room?"

Zikané nodded. "But please, let me not disturb your meal."

"We are just about finished." Picard rose immediately, and Riker took the opportunity to gulp down the last of his hot spiced drink before following his captain outside.

Governer Sathene, Ministers Halé and Rassa and Speaker Gontha were waiting for them in a small conference room with windows opening on to a lush tropical garden. Security guards were patroling the sanded paths outside.

"Good morning," Sathene greeted them, rising behind a large table. Instead of the gray and silver finery of the day before he wore a severely cut, dark green tunic – still with a dagger attached to his heavy belt, the captain noted, although this one was less ornate. The others were similarly attired, in sober earthy shades of dun and ochre and maroon. "Please, take a seat," the governer said, waiting until they had found chairs before sitting down again. "I hope you had a restful night?"

"Thank you, Governer. We did." Picard settled himself in his high-backed chair, hearing his officers doing the same on both sides. Sathene drew a breath.

"Before we speak of anything else," the governer began, and the captain found his initial impression confirmed. Something must have happened that had upset Sathene's schedule; the governer appeared a little nervous. "There is something I have been asked to convey to you. The ligor – Telta-Anreth, the Wielder – has expressed a wish to see you and your officers, Captain."

It took Picard a moment to remember. "The emperor of Turië, Governer?"

"Yes. As you can imagine" – Sathene gave a brief tense smile – "word of your visit gets around, even though we have tried to keep a low profile. The ligor is privy to everything that goes on in the capital, which is as it should be. He wishes to receive you in his summer palace at Murnak-Ramé _on the sixth day of halge_, as his Master of Ceremonies put it – that is, tomorrow."

"That's quite all right," Picard replied. "It will be an honor."

"It'll be _that_, yes," Halé said with an air of grim amusement. Picard gave him a questioning look, and the minister said: "You'll see, Captain."

"We can discuss the details later," Sathene put in. "For the moment, may I tell the ligor that you have accepted the invitation?"

Picard nodded, mentally noting that the invitation appeared to have been more of a summons. Sathene gestured to his secretary, who had remained standing in the door. Zikané disappeared without a word.

"That means, of course," the governer said with another slightly forced smile, "that a lot of things we wanted to show you will have to wait. Murnak-Ramé isn't particularly accessible, and this visit will take all of tomorrow. But now this is out of the way, let's get back to the original purpose of this meeting. Is there anything you would like to know?"

"You told us a great deal already yesterday," Picard answered politely. "But there is one thing which I confess I'm quite curious about. How did you – or rather, how did Governer Ongar and his team – come to know of us?"

He had expected a reaction of some kind, but he hadn't expected the governer's face to freeze as it did, or the suddenly uncomfortable atmosphere. He heard Troi shifting in her seat on his left. Halé leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Gontha and Rassa exchanged a quick glance. After a noticeable pause Sathene said, a little pained the captain thought: "I am… I am sincerely sorry, Captain. But you will understand – even for the leaders of this world there are a few things that are not supposed to be discussed. I'm sure you must be familiar with this kind of situation," he added rather quickly.

In the chair on Picard's right he had taken without even thinking about it Riker leaned forward. "You can't tell us about your sources?"

"No, Commander." It was Minister Halé who answered. "Sorry for that, but we can't."

"Captain." That was Worf, almost on his feet already. "Request permission to contact the ship."

"Permission granted, Lieutenant." Picard turned back to the four politicians. "Please, don't be alarmed. The lieutenant is simply telling my crew to be on the alert for additional visitors." He heard the door of the conference room closing in his back, and smiled slightly. "You have to understand – _we_ must consider a number of possible sources now."

"I understand." Sathene was looking more uncomfortable than before. "I frankly don't believe there is cause for alarm, Captain – but I do understand." A brief pause. "Would you mind telling us –"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted him before he could continue. "Yes!" called Halé, impatiently.

The door opened to admit Secretary Zikané. "I apologize for the interruption," the man said without waiting for anybody to speak, "but there has been an… incident. I believe you will think it of sufficient importance, Ta'Arun."

"Well?" The governer was all attention now.

"Ras Hettith, Ta'Arun. He is on the move again."

Minister Halé leaped to his feet with a muttered exclamation. Sathene's face tightened for a moment. "Anything to do with the latest news, Zikané?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Come on, Gontha." Halé was heading for the door. "Sorry for that, Captain, but it sounds like something we'd better deal with right away." And with that he was gone, followed by the secretary and the Hurso representative, who lingered for a moment as if he would have liked to add something. The door closed again.

"So much for that." Sathene was looking grim now. "Well, I suppose we can still try to do what we set out to do in the first place."

"Governer," Troi said, and this time the captain thought he noticed a fleeting unease crossing Sathene's face. "Forgive my saying so, but I am under the impression that whatever this crisis is, it somehow concerns us."

Sathene turned his head to look at her, rather deliberately Picard thought. "In a manner of speaking. Actually, it's… frankly, I cannot imagine it would be of any interest to you, Commander."

"But it is." Troi gave him a brilliant smile, and Picard found himself watching the exchange in fascination. So did Riker. So did Rassa, from the other side of the table. "Please, Governer – will you tell us about this… Ras Hettith, if I got that right? If this _latest news_ you mentioned is the news of our arrival here, we appear to have caused some sort of trouble."

Sathene looked at Picard. "Captain –"

"I second that," Picard said dryly. „It _is_ of some interest to us, Governer."

"Well, if you say so…" Before the captain could determine whether or not there had been a little extra stress on the personal pronoun the governer drew a breath, and began. "I really don't think there is a _crisis_, Captain, but this is something that would have come to the fore sooner or later anyway in our talks, so I'll give you an overview now. This Ras Hettith – the man my secretary mentioned just now as being _on the move_. He is… a problem."

Sathene paused a moment, to choose his words apparently, and Picard looked over at Troi – to find her looking at him, giving him a look that said, as clearly as words could have: _Here it comes_.

"I've been looking at the material that was contained in Governer Ongar's probe," resumed Sathene, "and you're evidently familiar with it, so I don't need to give you the historical background. Briefly put, Astorga _Ras_ Hettith is a terrorist and a popular hero – a Hurso hero. Which of the two you call him – well, if Gontha was here we'd be talking at length about it. Let me assure you straight away that he has no military rank. _Ras_ is what his followers call him, an honorary title of sorts." Sathene drew a deep, slightly shaky breath. The topic upset him. "To cut a long story short, he is pushing for Hurso equality by any means necessary. He's been at it for something like twenty-five turns now. Survived two civil wars, in both of which he played an active role, and profited from an amnesty we had no choice but to extend to him after the last one. Hettith is a criminal many times over, completely ruthless, absolutely no rules. But to many people – countrypeople mainly – he is a champion of sorts." The governer struck the table with the flat of his hand, lightly it seemed, but the table shook in response. "Which is why we couldn't lay hands on him, even if it wasn't for that amnesty. They'll hide him, feed his little army – half out of fear, half out of admiration –"

"Excuse me, Governer – _army_?" interposed Riker.

"Guerrilla fighters. Desperados. Terrorists. Men who'll follow him. Take your pick, Commander. When you move troops against them, there's nothing there. A few days later they'll be back in force, plundering an arsenal, blowing up a base –" Sathene composed himself with a visible effort. "Actually," he said, more calmly, "he's one of the reasons I can't move in the Hurso question. We can't allow people to believe that this government yields to terrorist demands."

"And our presence here has triggered some new move by him?" Troi asked, gently bringing the discussion back to its starting point. Sathene didn't seem to notice this time.

"Apparently so. He's unpredictable. But it would be just like him to make use of totally unfounded fears that the _ruling classes_" – his expression became a sneer as he said it – "will somehow turn your visit to their own advantage. As if we could," he added with a kind of savage humor. "In fact it may have been the ligor's invitation that has set him off. I shouldn't be surprised at all. The invitation was issued late last night, and it is not supposed to be common knowledge yet, of course, but he has always had an uncanny way of knowing things."

"Why would he mind that?" asked Riker.

Sathene sighed. "The ligor… Well, in a manner of speaking the ligor exemplifies what many Hurso resent about the Tala. There was a time when the Ligor of Turië was a true monarch, a ruler who kept the princes and warlords in some sort of order. These days this country isn't ruled by a monarch, but the ligor and his court are still there. He has certain prerogatives, and the court is quite… conservative in many respects. To some the ligor's invitation to you may well look like confirmation that you are guests of the Tala part of the population, Captain. To be quite frank with you, it may even have been intended to be seen that way. The ligor's opinion of the Hurso isn't very high, and he tends to be quite outspoken about it."

"Governer," Picard interposed, "I have absolutely no intention of helping to play one part of your population against the other. In fact I am specifically forbidden to do anything of the sort. If this visit will give that kind of message –"

"Captain, please – it won't give that kind of message to any thinking person. Refusing an invitation by the ligor is… unheard of. People know that. To be quite honest with you – and I do ask that you and your officers will not repeat this outside this room – the ligor is considered to be… well, perhaps something of a remnant by many. Tala, even," Sathene added with what looked like real determination. "I cannot say more than that, but…"

"I think I understand." There was a brief, slightly uncomfortable pause. "Well," Picard said then, "perhaps you could tell us about this… audience. From what you have said I suppose there will be an amount of ceremony."

"Yes," admitted Sathene. "First, our air carriers will take us to within a short distance of Murnak-Ramé but not _to_ it. It is an old fortified town in the mountains; there is no place to land, and even if there were we are not supposed to. We'll cover the distance by haunir. Once we are –"

"Excuse me, Governer, but what is _haunir_?" interrupted Riker.

"Oh. A haunir is an animal, about… about the height of that doorway. They used to be the primary means of transport in this country. In some regions they still are – there are types of terrain that just aren't suitable for ground vehicles. Murnak-Ramé is in the hills of Sihalé Province. It's a rural place, quite backward, and the road is bad. You see, we fit the haunira with a seat on their back and a harness, and they… you know the procedure, Captain?"

"I am familiar with _my_ world's type of mount," Picard replied, noting with a certain amusement that Riker was looking at him with a degree of dismay. "It sounds quite similar."

"It is not difficult at all," Minister Rassa put in reassuringly.

"We will be admitted into the town of Murnak-Ramé by the elders and proceed to the palace, where we will be admitted by the steward, and conducted into the ligor's presence. As I said – the ligor has certain prerogatives. It is up to him to decide whether or not he will rise to greet you, for example, although I suspect he will." For a moment Sathene looked almost sly, and Rassa grinned openly. "We, on the other hand, adhere to tradition. The ligor is greeted on bent knee. He will tell us to rise at his own convenience. After that –"

"Pardon me?" said Picard. "_On bent knee_?"

"That is the tradition." Sathene nodded slowly. "So the gesture has meaning on your world as well?"

"Well, it has. At least it used to have." Picard frowned. From the corner of his eye he caught the look on Riker's and Troi's faces. In fact Riker was opening his mouth to speak, and evidently thought better at the last moment.

"And you do not approve."

"I… Governer, the question is not so much whether or not I _approve_. But on my world – and, unless I am very much mistaken, on yours as well – this signifies an acknowledgement of someone else's sovereignty. And we are not the ligor's subjects."

"Neither, to all intents and purposes, am I," said Sathene. "Like so much else, it is a relic, Captain. In the world of politics, it means very little. At the ligor's court, which is a world with laws of its own, it means a lot. Do you intend to refuse this gesture?"

The captain hesitated, a little to his own surprise. Then, with a wry smile, he asked: "You mean I could?"

"Oh, you _could_. Not even the ligor would force you." Sathene was smiling himself in tentative relief.

Picard nodded. "It is all right. But… Governer, is it enough if I perform this gesture? I would prefer not to commit my officers to something that may be a little… well, that we certainly wouldn't do normally."

"Captain," Riker said softly.

"Captain, I really –" Troi began, and stopped when Picard held up his hand.

Sathene thought for a moment. "Actually, there is a way. You must understand – for the ligor's guests the etiquette is all but obligatory. But that is for guests. If your officers were to assume the status of servants for the duration of this visit –"

"Is there anything that is expected of servants?" Picard asked warily.

"Nothing," Sathene said crisply. "Nothing at all."

Picard turned his head to look at his officers. "Would you consent to be servants?" he asked, and what would have been a shared joke under other circumstances came out with a steeliness that startled them both.

"No problem here," Riker replied promptly. "We're worms. But sir, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I see the governer's point, Will. As it happens, I agree with it."

"Very well," said Troi.

"Then that is settled, Governer."

"I appreciate it." Sathene smiled, rather tensely they thought. "I… in fact I would like to thank you for your… your good will in all of this. I had no intention of springing any of this on you on the first day of this visit. It seems that our timing could have been better."

"Things appear to have been sprung on you as much as on us, Governer," replied Picard. "And please, don't Iet our presence here prevent you from dealing with them."

"As a matter of fact… " Sathene drew an audible breath. "Forgive me, but would it suit you if we met again in, say, two and a half hours? It is true that I should go and find out more about this, the measures Arun Halé has taken. And your Lieutenant Worf hasn't returned either."

Before either of them could even answer Minister Rassa said quickly: "If you like I could show you a little of the government complex in the meantime. The gardens should still be shady."

"Actually," said Riker easily, "I _would_ like to see more of this place."

"No problem at all, Governer," said Picard on getting to his feet. Riker and Troi did the same, as did, with some alacrity, Arun Rassa.

"Captain," murmured Sathene, rising as well when the others were turning towards the door. "A quick word with you, if you don't mind."

Picard nodded at Riker and Troi. "Let's meet in our quarters in an hour," he said, turning back to the governer. Sathene didn't sit down again, but he waited until the minister and the two officers were well out of the room before he spoke.

"I have no wish to be interfering, and it may seem a trivial matter to you, but… it concerns your Commander Troi, Captain. Is she always wearing blue?"

_Here it comes_, the captain thought. Whatever Sathene was getting at, his discomfort around Troi had been too evident to miss.

"When she is in uniform, yes. It's the color of the science division. Why do you ask?"

Sathene looked uncomfortable. "This blue… it is a color no woman – no _one_ – in this country would ever wear, Captain. Quite close to the _liëne_ – the color of the highest honor and nobility. It is none of my concern, of course, but at the ligor's court it may cause some consternation."

"I see," said Picard.

Sathene looked at him sideways, his strange greenish eyes troubled. "Captain… Is that all you have to say?"

"Well, I frankly don't know what else to say. Commander Troi did point out only this morning that the color of clothing evidently carries some meaning on your world – a meaning we haven't been aware of. I would be interested to learn more about it, but blue _is_ the color of Commander Troi's uniform. If you would like to speak to her about it – she may decide that civilian garb would be preferable for the occasion. I certainly won't object. But that is her decision."

"I would…" Sathene straightened his shoulders. "I would prefer not to do that. It would be quite unbecoming. I noticed that you and Commander Riker don't appear to mind her speaking in public, so I thought you could, perhaps, talk to her."

"Well, if Commander Riker and I _minded_ her speaking in public we would both have got into trouble with our superiors a very long time ago, Governer," Picard replied lightly. "She is one of my officers, and acting as one. As for the question of the uniform… I can tell her of your concerns, of course, but that is all I can do." He allowed the pause to stretch a little before he asked: "Is there anything I ought to know about these connotations of color, Governer?"

"I still hope you will find a way around this blue, Captain." Sathene waited for a moment, received no response, and changed the subject. "It is… I couldn't give you the entire story, I'm not much of a scholar. But the _liëne_ is the color of moral and spiritual perfection, and nowadays it is not worn at all. I believe it used to be, at the ligor's court and for official functions. Shades approaching it may be worn by dignitaries, but women do not wear blue, and that's the long and the short of it."

"I'm afraid I can't singlehandedly change Starfleet's dress code", the captain said rather dryly. "And neither can Commander Troi."

"Well, that is something you know best. Excuse me, I really must go. In two and a half hours, then."

**- - - - - - - - **

"You _cannot_, sir!"

Lieutenant Worf's voice was at its most forbidding, and the captain smiled a little. Riker and Troi, on the other hand, tried their best _not_ to look amused – and not to look at each other either.

They had met as agreed, in the anteroom of their quarters – he had arrived, after a leisurely stroll through part of the huge complex, to find Worf in possession, debriefing Lieutenant Macaulay. For a moment the captain had a feeling that was something was wrong, that something in the look Macaulay gave him as she slipped past him and out of the room with a brief "Captain" would have merited inquiry, but just then Riker and Troi entered, and the moment was past. They had debriefed each other, Worf informing them earnestly that he had put the ship on alert and frowning reproachfully when Riker quipped: "Not _red_ alert I hope" – and then Picard had said: "We'll have to go over the implications of this, but for the moment let's consider this audience tomorrow."

And Worf had listened without expression until the captain mentioned that greeting _on bent knee_ – quite casually, merely referring to it as part of the proceedings, but Worf straightened immediately. And Riker, who had been listening to the captain's efforts with deep appreciation, watched Worf with even deeper appreciation, and even managed to keep his face still.

"It's just a gesture, Lieutenant," said Picard, soothingly. "Apparently this court's etiquette requires it."

"But you cannot kneel before this _ligor_," repeated Worf, very firmly, making the title sound like a cheap variety of _gagh_ worm. And adding, after a suitable pause: "The implications are… unbecoming."

"It's a _gesture_," Picard repeated, a little more clipped than before. "It doesn't _have_ implications – other than those you imbue it with, Lieutenant. As far as I am concerned this is the equivalent of a handshake." He paused, his expression turning a little wry. "Well, almost."

"To be honest, sir –" Riker began, and was cut short by Worf, who was actually trying a third time.

"Captain. It is inappropriate for you to submit to this."

At which Picard stepped up to him until he had to tilt his head to meet Worf's eyes, and said softly and quite fiercely: "I rather believe I should be the judge of that, Lieutenant, and I expect you to reconcile yourself to the fact – both now _and_ tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, _sir,_" replied Worf, with a hint of clenched teeth but also, or so it seemed to Riker, with something like grim appreciation – looking down from his towering height like a man who had been asking for something, and had received it. The first officer decided to expand the game.

"Think of it," he said. "You, Worf – you're required to be a _servant_ for the duration of this visit."

"I would rather be the captain's servant than the ligor's fool," Worf shot back.

The look Picard gave him was decidedly amused. "Thank you, Lieutenant… I think."

Worf frowned, reviewing what he had just said, straightened in alarm and opened his mouth to amend the statement. "Sir, I –"

The captain lifted his hand in a very small gesture. "It's all right, Mr. Worf, I believe I understand."

Worf glared briefly at Riker but held his peace. "So," said Troi before the pause could lengthen too noticeably, "and did Governer Sathene complain about me, Captain?" She was pouring herself a goblet of the flavored water as she spoke – they had found a freshly filled earthenware jug of it on one of the small tables, beaded with condensation and surrounded by four ornate metal goblets.

"He implied some disapproval." Picard frowned. "That was part of what was going on last night as well, wasn't it – they had difficulties adapting to your presence?"

"Insofar as they were trying, yes." She gave him a singularly wry smile.

"The governer is worried about the color of your uniform. Apparently there is a similar shade called _liëne_ which is associated with spiritual nobility, and with the ligor's court."

"Quite inappropriate for a servant," she nodded. "_Or_ a woman. I see."

"You could always wear that red jumpsuit," drawled Riker. "_That_ should set his mind at ease."

Troi snorted over her drink. When she reemerged from behind her goblet she explained: "Will and I actually saw a few women when Minister Rassa took us on that tour. From a balcony overlooking part of the city. They wear flowing, high-cut tunics, and always some kind of… I don't quite know how to describe it, something like a headband or hood. It's very pretty, and very suited to the climate, but… Is there anything you would recommend, Captain?"

"No," said Picard, smiling at her. "I told the governer there are limits both to the liberties we take with Starfleet's dress code and to my authority."

"Uniform, then," Troi said firmly, and disappeared in her goblet again.

"Counselor… if you would prefer to be left out of this, I am sure the governer would understand."

"But my presence would help?"

"It would most definitely help us gain an understanding of this world, yes."

"In that case I'll come. I confess I am curious myself."

"These people are fools," stated Worf. "They waste their resources for the sake of trivial distinctions."

"It's a ritualistic society, Lieutenant." For a moment the captain looked as if he would have liked to add something; instead he said: "Will, I want you to try and find out as much as possible about the technology that enabled them to build Governer Ongar's probe. I think it very likely that the source of that technology was the source of their knowledge about us, and that is something we _have_ to look into. After your private stroll, do you think Minister Rassa could help?"

"Well, it's not exactly his field of expertise, of course." Riker looked at Troi with a slight frown. "But he does seem incredibly enthusiastic about this… well, this first contact. I suppose he would at least introduce us to whoever seems most likely."

"Minister Rassa would probably introduce us to just about anybody if it meant getting more information out of us," Troi added merrily. "He appeared to enjoy showing us round, to put it very mildly, and he asked a great many questions of his own. The problem will be not to give too much away."

"I know." The captain studied the intricately tiled floor for a moment before he added: "I must admit, I am not entirely happy about this – trying to extract information they have no wish to share while keeping them in the dark about us."

"Well, after this morning I'd say they are in pretty much the same situation," said Riker.

"I agree, Will, but I don't have to like it. Still –" He looked up, looking at each face in turn. "Theories about what happened back there?"

"I thought it a little strange," said Troi. "Their reluctance to divulge the source of their knowledge about us suggests that they believe we wouldn't approve of the source. Their eagerness to establish friendly relations with us suggests that the source must have presented us in a favorable light. And their whole behavior, not to mention the things they actually told us, suggests that they have never encountered offworlders before."

"It could be a trap," stated Worf. "All of it."

"A very elaborate trap, Lieutenant – set many years ago, by a different government."

"No," Troi said decidedly. "They are not entirely open, but then nobody would expect them to be. They have their private fears, doubts and agendas. But I am quite sure they mean us no harm. Whatever this is, it isn't a trap – at least not one set by these people."

There was a moment's silence.

"Well," Riker concluded at last, "seems all we can do is keep our eyes open. Oh, and with that story the governer told us I suppose we know a little more about that Hurso's – Ta'Nemek Gontha's – problems now."

"Unless I am very much mistaken," said the captain softly, "we will know a lot more about them by tomorrow evening."

**- - - - - - - - **

* * *

_Dramatis personae_ for this chapter:

Ulaz Ta'Arun **Sathene**: Head of Turië's government, or "governer"

Senna Arun **Halé**: Turië's Minister for Interior Affairs

Hirun Ta'Nemek **Gontha**: the official Hurso representative, or "speaker", on the cabinet

Kamarzin Arun **Rassa**: Turië's Minister forLaw and Justice

Ekur Este **Zikané**: the governer's secretary

Astorga "Ras" **Hettith**: „the Major", a Hurso leader

Thana Ta'Arun **Ongar**: an earlier governer of Turië, and thus Belet-Irune

**Telta-Anreth**: "the Wielder", the Tala _ligor_ or emperor


	9. Chapter 9

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 8**

"We're almost there," Sathene shouted over the thrumping roar of the vehicle's engines, and although he couldn't hear a thing Picard still knew of the collective sigh of relief rising from his officers. Three hours of it, approximately, but it seemed longer. The noise was deafening.

They had risen early, to a breakfast less leisurely than the day before – the governer had explained that the trip to Murnak-Ramé would take the equivalent of five to six hours all told, and that it would be preferable to arrive before the searing hours of early afternoon. "It will not be quite as hot in the hills as it is at Moga," Sathene told them en route to the government airfield, "but the road is a little arduous. If we arrive at noon we will be able to rest during the hottest time of the day."

"You sound as if you had made that trip many times already, Governer," Riker remarked.

"I have." Sathene gave them one of the wry looks they had come to associate with the man's sparse humor. "A number of things require the ligor's approval, and as the ligor cannot be expected to travel at others' convenience the government officials come to him. There is also the annual Ceremony of Bestowing which falls in the time he usually spends at his summer palace. In fact the palace of Murnak is well-equipped to house large numbers of visitors. In theory, a government could probably operate from there for a while."

"Governer –" Picard frowned a little. "Excuse the question, but will we be required to actually conduct negotiations of any kind with the ligor?"

"Captain, if there were any danger of _that_ I would not have suggested you accept the invitation."

He must have looked a little surprised at the degree of bluntness, Picard thought, because Sathene immediately modified the statement. "I am quite sure the ligor has no wish to discuss anything with you, at least not today. He has heard of your arrival. He is understandably curious. That is all there is to it."

And that was all they had got out of him, except for some general information about the part of the country they were about to see. The government fliers they found waiting for them in the cool early-morning light – one for the five of them, and three security men, another for the remainder of the twelve armed guards the governer was bringing along – were squat gray monsters with a pair of disconcerting-looking propellers on top. Picard knew, in theory, that the things could fly. But to his eye they didn't look it.

Takeoff was smooth enough, and once in the air he was surprised to see how maneuverable the thing was, but the noise was unbelievable. At first he had hoped it would abate once the appropriate height had been reached. It didn't, though, and before long they had given up any attempt at normal conversation. Sathene had excused himself at the top of his voice and started to read through some folders he had brought along. Troi was leaning back in one of the surprisingly comfortable seats, eyes closed, hands folded in her lap. Worf was staring off into nothing, looking inscrutable. Riker had been fidgeting at first, craning his neck to see the front window between the heads of the two pilots seated there, and after a while he suddenly asked if he might be allowed to join them in the cockpit. There had been a quick exchange, the governer had given his slightly bemused permission, and one of the men up front, a rugged-looking individual in a serviceable jumpsuit, had waved for Riker to join them. Now the first officer was crammed into the seat between the two, and although he could only guess at whatever remarks they might manage to shout at each other Picard had a strong feeling that Riker was making friends there. In the back the security sat, stoically, rifles on their knees. In the end Picard rested his forehead against the window, blanked out the incessant roar of the engines as well he could, and watched the countryside below unfolding in the morning light.

There had been the city of Moga first, huge and sprawling in the last bend of a slow greenish-brown river already several miles wide, and from the corner of his eye he could see a rippling, shifting glare that had to be the sea. Then, after the shimmer had fallen behind, there was a plain, vast and infinitely varied at first; later, as the sun climbed higher, a thin haze rose from the land, blurring the detail. The countryside became more barren, less developed – small towns and smaller fields, the occasional glint of muddy water. Later still the landscape began to undulate; the towns became villages, the expanses of water grew rare and then vanished from the surface. Small streams snaked through the valleys, marked by ribbons of pale gold vegetation in a country that had turned dun, brown and gray. At some stage the governer, noticing Picard's interest, had taken it upon himself to give the occasional comment on the country below. "That used to be the border between two of Turië's most powerful principalities," he explained loudly when the captain craned his neck to get a better view of a huge wall snaking uphill and downhill for miles until it was lost in the haze.

"Ancient border towns?" Picard asked when they crossed, in rapid succession, three or four small, perfectly octagonal towns clustering round massive keeps.

"Guarding the old military road. I grew up in one of those," the governer had shouted back, giving the captain a sudden glimpse of his personal background. "Over there – that solitary peak – that's where the Shrine of Ibelene is situated. One of the most important, twelve hundred turns old." And when Picard turned his head with sudden interest: "I could arrange a tour if you would like…"

And then, when the downs had become foothills, long after it had grown uncomfortably hot in the cramped interior of the flier, they had gone down, so unexpectedly that Troi started and opened her eyes. The flier descended steadily into what looked like a dell between rocky slopes covered with thick pale-leaved brushwood and stunted trees, all rushing up to meet them. "Murnak-Ramé airfield," Sathene shouted, shoving his folders away. "The town is over there" – his gesture indicated the scorched hills on one side, but Picard could make out little through the clouds of white dust rising all around as the vehicle settled down. The thrumping overhead that had, to their ears, blended into one continuous roar hours ago became a thrumping again as the engines powered down, then a snarling _whoosh-whoosh_, and after a few moments it stopped entirely. The sudden silence was as deafening as the noise had been before.

A moment later the door was unfastened from outside and shoved to one side. About twenty meters away the second government flier had landed, and the government security had already taken up position in the open – four of them on either side, rifles at the ready, eyes on the surroundings, while another stood aside to let them get off. Sathene got out of his seat and jumped lightly down, ignoring the handles on either side of the entrance. Picard followed suit, and felt the heat meeting him like a solid wall. All around them the dust from their landing was settling in clouds, leaving a powdering of white on his uniform. "Great place," he heard Riker muttering at his elbow. "Where _is_ everybody?"

Picard found himself looking round as well, taking in the surroundings under that glaring, almost-white sky. Unthinkingly, he had expected some sort of welcome himself. But the landing pad, if it could be called that, was deserted. On one side a dirt road wound away among rocks and shrubbery. On the other he thought he could see a group of beings in the sparse shade provided by a clump of scrawny, dust-covered trees. Worf and Troi joined them, and a moment later Sathene. "Over there," the governer said, pointing.

They started walking, the security – eight altogether now – flanking them, rifles at the ready. The distance was smaller than Picard had expected, but the sun was brutal, and he was profoundly grateful when they reached the group of trees, their escort, and what had to be the haunira.

A group of men had been waiting in the dappled shade between the trunks, men wearing rust-colored tunics, dark green pants and boots, with rifles slung over their shoulders. One of them, the huge flared shoulders and gold embroidery of his tunic proclaiming his superior rank, stepped forward to give them an elaborate greeting, military, but also with something reminiscent of a privileged servant – a half-bow, one hand on his ornate dagger, the other arm arm across his chest, and then a smart straightening.

"Thank you, Ras," Sathene said, and the captain couldn't help noticing that the governer was speaking with a slight drawl that certainly hadn't been there before – like a man leaving absolutely no doubt about who was in charge. "This is Captain Picard of the vessel _Enterprise_, and these are his officers. You will treat them exactly as you would treat myself and the ministers of my cabinet. Can we leave?"

"Certainly, Ta'Arun." The man's dark hair was gathered in a pigtail not unlike Worf's; his eyes were almost yellow, only a hint of green and brown, and the purplish tone of his skin was more pronounced than in anyone Picard had seen so far. For a moment he found himself wondering if the officer could be Hurso. Then he dismissed the thought. From what Sathene had told them over the past days no Hurso would hold a position like this in the ligor's guard.

The other men approached, leading the haunira. They were large, at least the size of an Earth camel, short-bodied and long-legged, and their color ranged from a dusty white to light pinkish brown. Heads much like deer, with large soft eyes and a huge bony protuberance that curved upwards and backwards between long mobile ears, almost like a single blunt horn. The ones led forward first bore ornate saddles and bridles, brown and bright green, studded with small metal disks in several shades of green, gold and copper. Picard looked up at them and found himself frowning a little. The bridles he understood, and the saddles looked familiar enough too – except that he wouldn't be able to get up there, not without some sort of assistance. A brief look at Sathene convinced him that neither would the governer, his height notwithstanding. And there, right on cue, was one of the ligor's men with what looked like a small folding ladder. Picard turned back towards his officers, to see how they were doing – and just then Sathene asked rather loudly: "Didn't I request proper saddles for the captain's officers?"

The ligor's major, and the captain, followed Sathene's look to the one haunir that bore a different saddle – an equally ornate but cushioned and stirrupless affair the shape of a bowl tilted slightly forward, with footrests on either side. "Ta'Arun, I… I do not know what you requested, I beg your forgiveness. We were told that a woman would be accompanying you. I see a woman accompanying you. What –"

"She is not _accompanying_ me. She is one of the officers I mentioned." Sathene gave a short disgusted hiss – and Picard found himself exchanging a very brief, fleeting look with his counselor. Whatever difficulties Sathene himself might have had when it came to dealing naturally with Troi, he was clearly doing his best now to establish her status. And the ligor's major was clearly at a loss.

"That… I don't understand, Ta'Arun. It is a lady's saddle. She would not be an _officer_" – and now Picard was very sure that there must be two different words in the language, words the Universal translator rendered as one and the same. Sathene confirmed it a moment later.

"But she is," the governer said curtly. "It will have to do for now – but you will remember that next time I'll be expecting my guests to be treated with proper respect." He turned to Troi. "Is this acceptable to you, Commander?"

"As you said, Governer – it will have to be." Troi was playing along, not without a certain relish it seemed. The captain watched her getting up on her haunir with some difficulty, and with Riker's aid because the guardsman had retreated stiffly the moment the ladder was in place. The saddle required her to sit armchair-style, her feet on either side of the animal's neck; Troi arranged herself, measured the distance to the ground with a worried frown and then looked determinedly ahead. "Where are the reins?"

"Seems _I_'ll have to take them." Riker's tone was a little sharp. "Or somebody. They're too short for you to hold. Hey, is this how it's supposed to be?"

The guard retreated even further, looking both sullen and alarmed, and Sathene took it upon himself to explain. "Normally, a servant or one of the guardsmen would take this haunir's rein. Under the circumstances you or Lieutenant Worf may want to do it, Commander."

"Great," muttered Riker, giving his captain a bitter look. The first officer had never really felt at home on horseback. Worf was staring off into the flickering distance with shadowed eyes, already in the saddle and a few meters away, as if to leave no doubt at all that he wouldn't be available. With a trace of amusement Picard realized that Sathene's security must have accepted the Klingon for what he considered himself to be – they were holding themselves ready in a loose semicircle that included Worf. The captain got up onto his mount with some difficulty, the ladder notwithstanding.

"That way," said Sathene, pointing.

The road – what there was of it – wound out from the shade of the trees to seek that of a steep hillside covered in scrub, and immediately began to climb. The ligor's men arranged themselves in an arrowhead formation in front; two of them joined the governer's guardsmen in the rear. Picard found himself riding with Sathene. The haunira were amblers, which was disconcerting at first but manageable; he mentally corrected his image – dromedaries, or perhaps mountain horses, not deer. He saw Sathene giving him an appraising look.

"You _are_ familiar with this means of transportation," the governer remarked dryly.

"A hobby of mine. The mounts I am used to are quite different, but the principle is the same."

"Yes. I can tell _that_ much." And there was no doubt that he could, or that he was a fine horseman himself. "When I was young the roads in this part of the country were even worse," he explained. "As for this one – the ligor could have it repaired if he chose, but he likes things this way – old-fashioned, the way they used to be. Flyers and motor vehicles aren't allowed into Murnak-Ramé anyway, or even near it, so I don't suppose it makes much of a difference."

"You said Murnak-Ramé is just the summer palace. Does he really move here every year?"

"Murnak," said the governer. "Murnak-Ramé, that's the town surrounding it. And yes, he does – he himself, his wives, part of his family, part of his court. He couldn't take all of them – the winter palace down at Larsa is huge. Seems we picked a hot day after all, but it is actually more pleasant here than it is down in the plain. You'll see."

_I hope so_, Picard found himself thinking with a look back at the tight group of his officers. Not surprisingly, Worf had moved up; he was about five meters behind him now, watching his captain's back. The security, both the men Sathene had brought and the ones sent for them, were watchfully scanning the overgrown slope on their left and the thin trees on their right, rifles at the ready. Riker and Troi were conferring softly among themselves, Riker half a meter ahead and holding the ridiculously short rein of her haunir. Looking ahead again Picard realized that Sathene was watching him.

"Thank you for the effort, Governer," he said.

Sathene looked puzzled for a moment; then he made a dismissive gesture. "It was no _effort_. On this trip you and your officers are my responsibility. Once these people take it into their heads that Commander Troi is entitled to less courtesy…"

"I understand. Thank you still."

The governer gave a brief nod and cantered ahead a little – not so much showing off as settling the matter, and perhaps simply enjoying himself. Sathene's full-sleeved, elaborately embroidered tunic was a dull grayish blue, probably as close to the real thing as was seemly, and Picard found himself wondering if that, too, was to make a point. At least Troi wouldn't be the only one wearing the color. Then, quite suddenly, something else claimed his attention. A lazy breeze blew in from somewhere ahead, and with it came a smell – a sick, sweet, rotten stench, a mere whiff of it, but it was enough to make him recoil.

"What on Earth is that –"

"The smell?" Sathene turned his head to one side, then to the other. "Ah. Over there. Those are called creze, Captain. They are scavengers. Must have been some carrion around here." Picard followed the governer's outstretched arm to a group of straggly trees to the right of the road, squinting in the glare of the sky behind the branches; it took him several moments before he saw them. Four or five of them, skinny, grayish-white, dust-colored like the branches they clung to, leathery wings neatly folded for shade; the clawed wings and long serrated beaks reminded him of something, but it wasn't a Terran bird.

"Reptilian?" he asked, just as, to his relief, the breeze died down.

Sathene nodded, expertly reining in his mount until they were side by side again. "Ugly, aren't they? But they are actually quite harmless – they won't attack anything that moves unless they are either starving or provoked. The villagers still tend to stay away from them. They're not exactly hygienic. Do you have anything like them?"

"Ours are avian," Picard replied. "But they reminded me for a moment of a prehistoric creature on my own homeworld."

"Oh, they are living fossils all right," said Sathene. "This region abounds in them" – and from the sideways look the governer gave him Picard could have sworn Sathene wasn't just talking about reptilian scavengers. The road had grown even worse, a rutted, dusty track of varying width, but at least there were trees on either side now, their pale leaves forming a thin roof overhead that broke the sunlight. The still heat was stifling. He could feel sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. A look back showed him his officers doggedly following. Riker seemed to bear up quite well; he even gave him a crooked grin, and then reached up to wipe a film of sweat from his forehead. Worf was sitting upright and alert, and if he was uncomfortable on the back of his bland-faced mount he didn't show it. His eyes were ceaselessly scanning the thin brushwood on both sides, and the rippling glare beyond it, as if the governer's guards weren't there. The captain drove his mount next to Troi's, noting from the corner of his eye that Worf promptly fell back again, keeping his distance – five meters as before.

"How are you, Counselor?"

Troi gave him a smile that looked a little forced. "Somewhat seasick, Captain. Actually I would be much happier if I had the illusion at least that I am controlling this animal."

"Perhaps we can get you a decent saddle on the way back. This is ridiculous."

"Perhaps I should learn to ride a horse after all." Troi shook her hair back, and then had to use her hand to remove a strand of it that was plastered to her cheekbone. "Would horsemanship help?"

"Not with _that_ saddle," he admitted.

He was relieved when she flashed him a wide smile of genuine amusement. "That's what I thought. Actually, having someone take me up behind him would make a world of difference."

"No problem here," Riker commented with grim humor from the other side. "Although perhaps the honor should be yours, Captain. I just might end up in a heap with this animal on top."

Troi giggled, and Picard promised: "I'll see what can be done" before joining the governer again. There was another bend ahead, and the view opened up again; the captain had resigned himself to another stretch of baking sunlight when he realized that they had almost reached their goal. Beyond the bend the road evened out; the trees fell behind to reveal a small plateau of high coarse grass, scattered shrubs and walled-in paddocks, and low walls sprang up on both sides of the road. Ahead and to their left the terrain rose again in steep rocky slopes, pale-leafed trees clinging to near-vertical rock; in the hazy distance were what looked like real mountains. There was a breeze up here, and after the still heat of the road it felt cool on Picard's face. And ahead, three hundred meters across the narrowing plateau, was what had to be Murnak-Ramé.

The town had been a mountain fortress before it had been anything else, that much was unmistakable. The walls were massive, six meters or more in height, copper-colored stone tilted backwards a little and crowned with a zigzag of pinnacles. Beyond it the buildings rose behind and above each other, flat-roofed rectangles with tiny bays and turrets and small black slits for windows, shades of rose and copper and burnt orange, and rising over all of them to crown the slope was a cluster of many-sided towers that had to be the ligor's palace. And behind that again the pillars of rock rose like a wall.

There was one gate, open, and as they approached it Picard saw they were people clustering in the sparse shade outside. A trio of elderly males stood waiting under the arch, wearing belted, embroidered tunics with daggers gleaming on their hips, billowing breeches and dusty boots, and to one side there was a small crowd of spectators kept back by more of the ligor's rust-and-green-garbed guards. Murmurs rose when the governer reined in his mount, waiting for Picard to catch up with him, and then addressed the elders. The captain understood little of the brief exchange, which apparently consisted of time-honored phrases so worn and archaic the Universal Translator had trouble keeping up, but he had a feeling that he didn't need to. After a moment the elders bowed and stepped aside, and Sathene gave them a measured nod. "We have been granted entry," he said loudly over his shoulder, and with that the formalities were over. They entered a short echoing tunnel, providing a few seconds' coolness, to emerge on a small irregular square – and Picard found himself wondering again how an entire imperial household could be moved up here, and back, year after year.

The town was probably tiny, he decided, but it had almost outgrown its walls. The buildings were a jumble, hemming in the small open space and encroaching on it everywhere in the shape of porches, stalls built out of shopfronts, seats put out by a number of eateries. A few haunira were tethered by a well in the middle of the square. There were people about, but they kept to the margins, looking on as the governer's escort emerged from the dark arch of the gate, hooves hammering on the hard earth, and immediately split up to take their places in front and behind again.

"It's livelier usually," Sathene commented to Picard as he urged his mount forward. "The ligor may have clamped down on things. Visits from me or a lone cabinet minister are one thing, but you –"

"Would people here know of us?" inquired Picard, after a look back to make sure of his officers.

"Frankly, I don't know. You have been in the broadcasts – you'll have noticed we kept journalists out so far, though, and we did our best to keep this visit quiet. It depends on what the ligor has seen fit to make public to the people here. But you are strangers from the sky visiting him in his palace– let's just say I can't imagine the palace has actively done much to keep this from the townspeople, Captain."

Picard had to smile at that. He covered it up with another question. "How large is this town?"

"Something like five thousand people I believe. Perhaps seven. In this part of the country statistics are guesswork as much as anything."

The captain found that easy to believe. Murnak-Ramé looked like a relic of another world – beautiful in its way, faintly disturbing and a little unreal. _Broadcasts_, the governer had said. Picard found himself looking up, surveying the roofs until he discovered what had to be old-fashioned antennas. It probably hadn't been too long since mounted messengers had been carrying the news up and down that road.

"Oh, and you'll be interested to know," Sathene added softly, "this town – the whole of Sihalé Province – is almost exclusively Tala. Proudly so."

So the governer had noticed how much the issue had been on his mind. He dismissed the thought to concentrate on what was probably the only provincial town he would see during his stay. At close quarters the buildings were still crowded, but a little less so than they had looked from a distance. There were small irregular squares between the buildings, and tiny shady yards opened up behind staggered archways. The beaten-dirt street winding up to the palace appeared to be the only street the town boasted. Narrow passageways branched off it between the buildings, some of them so steep they had steps at intervals. Carts had been moved out of the way to allow the ligor's visitors to pass, some evidently made to be pulled or pushed by their owners, some drawn by goatlike creatures with huge muscular hind legs and fluffy manes, and now waited to resume their passage. People stood in clusters to look at the cavalcade as it passed, the security notably more relaxed now; Picard could have sworn he saw the officer immediately in front turning his head to smile at a young woman standing in a doorway.

It was the first time he saw normal civilians, men and women, except from a great distance, and he didn't feel comfortable with it. _We shouldn't be here_, he found himself thinking, _these people should not be exposed to us – those strangers from the sky, God knows what they have been told…_ He met the stare of an elderly woman in the loose garments Troi had described to him, her hair mostly hidden under what looked like an intricately slung veil a little like a Terran wimple, and the expression on her face would have been a blend of incredulity, awe and faint disapproval in a human; he felt quite sure it was just that. _Two days ago she didn't know that beings like these exist, _he thought. And:_ I'm not sure she does now_…

But he did his best to see, and memorize, as much as he could. The buildings, each quite simple and inconspicuous by itself, but making up a whole like no town anywhere on Earth or elsewhere. The colors, intense and dusty at the same time in the sunlight, muted in the shade – and now he had been alerted to it, the near-complete absence of blues. Many of the men in reds and greens and purples, usually muted but reds and greens and purples still, the women in earth tones with the occasional splash of color – rust, perhaps, or pale yellow; once he saw a tall beauty coming down a flight of steps with a basket on her arm, her tunic a clear amber, a gauzy headband covering her hair. A blare of sound from a window, a transmitting device of some sort. A small boy standing with his back against a wall as if he had been about to cross the street and thought better of it, an animal clutched in his arms – something thin and feral-looking, like a ferret, perhaps. The captain had met the child's gaze without meaning to, but he could feel it following him afterwards, with as little understanding as the old woman's but with fierce interest, and his heart sank.

Beyond the next bend another wall loomed ahead, massive and pinnacled, closing off the street with startling suddenness; the houses were built almost on to it. A dark tunnel yawned in it, the leaves of massive double doors flat against the wall. As they approached a bright gap appeared at the other end of the tunnel, widening quickly – a second pair of doors being opened. They were wood, old and cracked, creaking in their hinges. A pair of guards stepped aside to let them pass. They emerged into the glaring light of an open space, the first since entering the town. "There," Sathene said softly, pointing to the right.

It was a courtyard, burning under the noonday sun; the first moment Picard found himself squeezing his eyes shut against the light. When his haunir swerved readily without prompting, heading in the direction the governer had been pointing, he realized there was a strip of shade ahead. On one side the courtyard was bordered by a high wall, and on getting closer he saw worn metal rings set in the masonry. The beast knew where it was going, evidently.

The wall was about five meters high, and there had to be a garden on the other side, because the top was overgrown with some climber – trailing vines, shiny leaves of dark russet and blooms of brilliant scarlet, the sort of plant that wouldn't grow in a place like this unless it was watered and tended. Picard saw a few palace guards approaching with the obligatory ladders, but he also saw, from the corner of his eye, that Sathene had already dismounted by the simple method of swinging his leg over the haunir's crupper and jumping down. On a sudden hunch he followed suit, realizing the moment he pulled his boot out of the stirrup that any prestige gained that way would probably be marred beyond repair if he missed his footing – but his training held, and he dismounted with nothing more unpleasant than a jarring reminder of just how large the animals were.

Leaving the guard to look after the haunir he went over to lend a hand as Troi clambered cautiously down from her mount, the man steadying the ladder trying his best not to look at her, and all but gaping at her – and Picard – at the same time. "I'm afraid you're scandalizing them again, Captain," she murmured when she took his proffered hand and jumped down from the ladder, and only just managed to choke back a little gurgle of nervous laughter when he gave her a brief look that said, as clearly as words could have, _So be it_.

Picard took the opportunity to look around while the animals were tethered. The courtyard was an irregular rectangle, some thirty or thirty-five meters across, surrounded by the gatehouse they had passed on one side, the wall on another and buildings on the remaining two. Facing the gatehouse was what had to be the palace proper, a four-storey building with steps leading up to a platform running the length of the courtyard, and a large open doorway flanked by faceted pillars. A pair of guardsmen stood there, motionless like statues in the still heat.

It was unmistakably an old structure – several centuries old, quite lovely and somehow less grandiose that Picard had expected. Those pillars, the lintel of the door, the ledges and frames of the windows high up, the decorative friezes dividing the storeys – the stonework was exquisite, but it was crumbling, the edges softening, the copper-colored stone flaking in places and seemingly falling to dust in others. Nothing was being done to preserve it, apparently. There were people around; there was movement in the shadows under the arches of the building opposite, but although the captain could feel their eyes they didn't venture out into the glaring light.

"We might as well be freaks," Troi murmured at his elbow. "Captain, this place is many, many years behind what we have seen at Moga. A different world altogether."

"I'll try to remember," he answered as softly, and then he saw Worf approaching them, his eyes everywhere, his ever-present alertness as noticeable than before. The Klingon said nothing; he merely took up his habitual position behind Picard's right shoulder. Riker joined them a moment later.

"This way," Sathene announced, pointing towards the door. Picard nodded, regretfully stepping out into the glare again. The governer's own guardsmen fell into step, small clouds of dust rising under their feet. The sentinels at the door came to life when they ascended the steps, snapping into a smart salute – but even they stared, an unreadable expression on their faces, and for the first time Picard felt his counselor drawing closer to him, as if she felt safer there.

There was a wide cool hall on the other side of the doorway, not unlike Moga's Council Building. An ornate ceiling half-hidden in semidarkness, a stone floor that echoed with the sound of their boots, and in the dimness ahead the foot of a wide stairway flanked by shadowy staggered arches. Someone was waiting for them, a large man whose clothing glittered faintly in the light from the door.

"The ligor's steward," Sathene said over his shoulder, not bothering with a name, and the man bowed.

"Honored guests, will you follow me into my lord's presence?"

_Straight away?_ Picard found himself thinking, suddenly – and somewhat to his own amusement – very much aware of his sweat-drenched, dusty uniform. It wasn't how he would have chosen to present himself to the nominal ruler of an alien world. A moment later it occurred to him that nobody coming up that road on the back of a haunir would ever be in much better shape. He tugged his uniform tunic down and took it in his stride. And Sathene, no doubt used to it, never even blinked.

"Announce us, _Varaz_," the governer said without a trace of cordiality. The security, the captain noted, had faded away in the twilight. Still, there were people close by; he heard the scurrying of feet, distant murmuring, no doubt servants going about their business. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he noticed the sheer splendor of the room – the faint gleam of metal inlays and what looked like semiprecious stone in the walls, the polished smoothness of the corkscrew columns supporting the ceiling, the intricate pattern of the floor tiles. They followed the steward up the wide shallow steps, across a landing and through another staggered doorway flanked by two more guardsmen, across a small hall and down a corridor with a mosaic wall of black, brown and gold on one side and a row of windows on the other; the windows had small translucent panes made of something like pale agate, suffusing the place with a milky light. Picard had lost all sense of direction when their guide finally turned left towards a magnificent doorway, looking back at them for the first time, and stopped in his tracks.

"What –" he began, and then drew himself up. He was of average height for a Girsu, but he looked larger, the copper brocade of his tunic stretching smoothly over huge shoulders and a belly to match. "Do you wish to bring this female into my lord's presence, Ta'Arun?"

The captain felt both Riker and Worf bristling in his back. He felt a stab of indignation himself – and then Sathene next to him said coldly: "Mind your manners, Varaz," and the man's neck almost disappeared between his shoulders.

"Forgive me, Ta'Arun. I was merely trying to –"

"You might try to do your job instead," the governer drawled with an icy superciliousness that gave Picard an unwelcome glimpse of how he himself might be expected to conduct himself among the ligor's servants. He had a feeling that some kind of power struggle was going on between the two men, but after a moment or two Sathene had evidently decided it in his favor, because the steward said: "Follow me, please, honored guests," before disappearing through the doorway on the left.

Sathene gave Picard and Troi a brief look. "Lackey," he commented, softly, but not too softly, before beckoning to them to follow him inside.

They found themselves in the shadow of some kind of gallery that ran three sides of the room, supported on corkscrew pillars like those they had seen in the entrance hall. From somewhere to their right voices were speaking, their echoes but not their meaning carrying down the length of the room. A sweet musky fragrance was thick in the air, lazy clouds of it drifting heavily under the barrel-vaulted ceiling. "Stop when you are about halfway to the dais – a step or two further," the governer said under his breath, turning back to Riker, Troi and Worf. "And ignore whatever may be said to you. You may be servants for the duration of this, but you are also guests in the ligor's house."

"Right," said Riker with an unmistakable air of amusement. Troi nodded. Worf looked out into the hall with narrowed eyes, and Picard found himself wishing, suddenly and fervently, that nobody would be inclined to provoke his Chief of Security further – he knew that face.

"Come on," Sathene said softly, and stepped out into the milky light that bathed the room as it had bathed the corridor outside. In sheer splendor the ligor's reception hall outdid everything they had seen so far – from the intricate patterns formed by the slabs of multicolored stone beneath their feet to the turquoise and dull gold of the mosaic overhead. Ahead was the dais the governer had mentioned, and a cluster of people. As they approached it the people became recognizable. The steward and a couple of obvious servants off to the right, an imposing figure in green and silver by the windows on the left. A row of chairs dead center – and a moment later the captain corrected himself, fighting a sense of unreality: Not chairs – thrones. An elderly man was sitting in the largest one. To his right two more were unoccupied. To his left a younger man sprawled in a slightly less ornate chair. Behind them a group of people was standing at attention – four guards, several women, a couple of boys, a man with very long, gray-streaked hair combed forward over both shoulders. And a huge man holding something like a hauberk.

He could feel the sudden silence in his back when his officers stopped as instructed, rather more than halfway down the hall. He felt the eyes of everyone in the group ahead riveted on his face. A moment ago this had been a diplomatic formality like countless others. Now, quite suddenly, it no longer resembled anything he had done before. This wasn't quite a formality. Or was it?

_I'm not really supposed to go down on one knee before this – figurehead?_

Only that _he_ didn't consider himself a figurehead.

_It's a gesture_. He shook it off. A little belatedly it occurred to him that the incense might have something to do with the sudden shift in his perspective. Two tall braziers were positioned on the dais, the one on the right just clear of the unoccupied gallery. The fragrant smoke was rising from them in thick twisting waves; the air was laden with it, getting heavier the closer they got to the end of the room. He tried not to draw too much of it into his lungs – it gave him something to concentrate on, other than what he was about to do.

A moment later Sathene stopped walking, apparently knowing exactly where it was appropriate to do so. The first step of the dais was about three meters ahead. After a pause of a second or two the elderly man finally transferred his attention from Picard's face to that of the planetary leader, not bothering to sit up. The younger man on his left made a show of contemplating the ceiling. "Your Glory, my lord Ligor," the governer said, and went down on one knee like a man who had done all of this a dozen times before.

After a bare heartbeat of disorientation, and caught off guard after all, the captain followed suit.

**- - - - - - - -**

Will Riker had been feeling uncomfortable ever since they entered the town – no, to be precise he had been uncomfortable ever since they set out for it. And it had little to do with the infernal heat, or even the fact that he didn't consider himself much of a horseman. He'd found himself thinking something like _Damn you, Captain_ on seeing Picard handle that huge mount of his, apparently without wasting another thought on it – but _that_ had been with amusement. No, the reason for his nagging discontent was something else. He didn't like the way they were supposed to behave. He didn't like the way Deanna was supposed to behave, the fact that he couldn't do much about it, the fact that Worf couldn't do much about it – and Worf would have liked to, he felt sure of that, if for reasons slightly different from his own. And now this. It had sounded bad the day before, in that conference room. It was worse now. And while he knew quite well why it mattered to him he didn't know why it seemed to matter quite so much.

He stood there with Troi on one side and Worf on the other, trying to remember they were servants and wondering just how a servant was supposed to stand and look. Not like Worf, presumably – chin up, narrowed eyes smouldering with barely-concealed distaste. _Or_ like Troi, who was standing ramrod-straight, looking as aristocratic as ever in the dusty blue uniform that was probably scandalizing everyone in the room. The sweet smell that was thick in the air was beginning to feel quite disagreeable. _Damned if I ever felt so out of place_.

He shifted his weight, uncomfortably, watching as the captain dropped to one knee as if it didn't bother him. _I couldn't do that_, he thought defiantly, _not like that_, and then, with a pang: _Wish he wouldn't do it for all of us_. He turned his head a little, inconspicuously, to take a look at Troi's expression. She was looking thoughtful and detached at first glance, and at second (because he wasn't buying it, and he knew what to look for too) she was concentrating fiercely, a tiny crease between her eyebrows and a slightly vacant expression in her eyes. He turned his head to the other side and saw Worf clenching his teeth, furious resentment radiating from him in waves he could almost feel. For a moment he had a vision of Worf striding up there and pulling Picard to his feet, regardless of the mission and everything else; he actually found himself shifting his weight to be able to put himself in Worf's way, just in case. Then he saw the ligor get up from his chair – _at least_, he found himself thinking, irrationally – and take a step forward.

"Honored guests," said the ligor, his voice surprisingly reedy for a man as tall as the average Girsu; Riker had to strain to catch the words across the ten or twelve meters that separated him from the dais. It was a cue, evidently; he saw the governer and the captain get to their feet with casual ease, and he thought, fiercely: _How the _devil_ does he do it?_

"It is my pleasure," the ligor went on, "my great pleasure. You are welcome as always, Ta'Arun. So are you, Captain. I can see you are indeed from another world. I would not have believed it possible. You must have traveled far to find us."

"We did indeed, sir," replied the captain evenly, the words carrying easily back to Riker, who identified the tone as being what he had come to think of as High Diplomacy mode. The ligor looked at Picard with evident interest for another second or two; then he looked at the three of them in the background, and finally he said:

"You and your… entourage will join us for a light meal later on I hope." It sounded faintly amused – it sounded for all the world as if the ligor knew perfectly well that Picard's _entourage_ was a sham, and wanted him to know that he knew. For a moment Riker found himself wondering just how seriously the man was taking all this ceremony. "For now, my steward here has had quarters prepared for you. I must attend to business – pleasure will have to wait. I am looking forward to speaking with you, Captain."

"Thank you, sir," said Picard with a single nod, and the ligor gave him another curious look before turning away and returning to his seat, bringing the audience to an unmistakable close. Riker saw Sathene give an infinitesimal gesture of his chin. They came walking back down the hall together; Riker caught his captain's eye for a second, long enough for the three of them to fall in behind. The first officer found himself breathing more freely the moment he turned his back on the braziers, and perhaps the cluster of silent people on the dais as well.

They had barely reached the corridor when the steward caught up with them. "Follow me, please, honored guests," he said. "Rooms have been prepared for you. You may wish to rest after your journey."

Sathene took a step back. "As a matter of fact I have business with the chief ustak. We will meet later, Captain – I will come for you."

"As you wish, Ta'Arun." The steward turned back to the _Enterprise_ party, his gaze slipping quickly past Riker and Worf and lingering on Troi for a moment before it came to rest on Picard's face. "But you, my lord Captain – may I –"

And to Riker's deep and silent delight Picard cut him off with a brief imperious nod and an equally brief "Make it so" – and if the first officer knew that his captain was wincing inside he also knew that nobody else could tell. With the exception of Troi, of course, who was studying the mosaic-covered wall with rapt attention.

The large whitewashed room they were shown to, after a maze of corridors and stairs, was cool and dim, the green-glazed floor tiles polished so brightly they reflected the band of mosaic just below the ceiling, the windows – small panes of glass this time, not agate, set in walls thick enough to allow for two-foot sills – opening on to a shady enclosed garden. Two doors, one on either side, led off to adjacent rooms. The furniture was sparse but intricately carved, made of a greenish-black wood with silver inlays and mountings, and a small table in the middle of the room bore a large bowl of dried fruit and what looked like several kinds of nuts.

"That's a nice gesture," said Troi. But instead of investigating further she sat down in the nearest chair and stretched her legs with an involuntary sigh. The captain followed suit. Worf crossed the room to take a look through each of the doors, and another down into the garden. Only then did he turn back to the others – to frown immediately when he caught Picard leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes for a moment.

"Captain, are you all right? The heat –"

"No." Picard was smiling a little. "Actually, it's the incense. Back there it was a little… overpowering."

"Probably intended to protect them from their evil-smelling visitors." Riker looked round as if in search of something, gave a brief satisfied nod and made a beeline for the earthenware jug he had discovered on a windowsill. It was one thing he liked about the place, and one he had already grown used to – the omnipresent jugs of flavored water with their attendant clusters of cups. They had them everywhere, in anterooms and private quarters and conference rooms. Here the cups were goblets of what looked like thick green glass, with metal feet and ornate rims. He filled two of them while the conversation went on in his back.

"How are you bearing up, Counselor?"

"Well enough." He could pick up both the strain and the faint amusement in Deanna's voice. "Although I confess it does make me a little nervous to… well, to pick up those reactions. They –"

"They resent you?" the captain asked, softly.

A pause. "Yes," she said then. "They also don't know what to make of me. Or of you either, Captain, but I'll know more about these things later on. By the way, he's intensely curious about you – quite intrigued in fact. That bit about looking forward to speaking with you was quite sincere."

"I thought him surprisingly relaxed, for lack of a better word. Not as among equals, of course, but… jovial, almost."

"He is. The ligor and his family… I believe they are so far above ordinary people that ordinary people's concerns don't concern them. It is for others to worry about these things. On the other hand, I think you should know that the governer's guardsmen were quite nervous all the way up here."

"They were certainly alert… Would you say they were prepared for something specific, Counselor? After what Sathene told us yesterday…"

"I couldn't say. What I _can_ say is that once within the town they were showing off. On that road they weren't. They didn't exactly _expect_ to be shot at, but –"

"It was an ideal terrain for snipers," Worf's deep voice cut in. "And the governer does expect to be shot at."

"Yes, I remember," said Picard, accepting the goblet Riker brought him with a brief, and minutely surprised, look of thanks. Riker handed the other one to Troi and went back for more, taking a long draught himself before he asked: "How long do we have?"

"From what the governer said earlier, at least an hour. Quite possibly more. I would suggest we get what rest we can. Ta'Arun Sathene will come for us in due time."

**- - - - - - - -**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's notes**: Another chapter – really the second half of one mammoth chapter – with a _dramatis personae_ at the end, just in case it might be helpful. And the next instalment will be longer in coming, because I'll be away on business for most of the next three weeks.

**- - - - - - - -**

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 9**

Sathene came for them at a time that felt like early afternoon. In the end they had all been glad enough of the rest – with the exception of Worf, perhaps, who sat down in a chair in the front room and remained there, in full view of the door.

"I'll get a shower before I get anything else," Troi had announced, returning from an inspection of the adjacent rooms. "There's a very good bathroom off that room there. It's as modern as the ones at Moga. Just as luxurious too. These people have very strict ideas regarding hospitality."

"The technicalities of it, anyway," grumbled Riker, and Worf gave a soft growl of agreement that elicited an amused look from Picard. The quarters _were_ well-equipped – not ostentatiously, which made the captain suspect that they were for people who came here on political business, rather than state visitors, but so as to make sure of the comfort of their occupants. The palace might be old, and crumbling too, but he had noticed the electric lighting in the rooms straight away. And there was the garden outside, ensuring rest and quiet, and the lissé-flavored water, and in the private rooms off the lounge they found the ubiquitous robes, long, straight and toggle-closed on the left shoulder and hip, that they had learned by now were called _zimara_.

By the time Sathene arrived they were sitting in the lounge again, and Worf was making occasional attacks on the dried fruit and nuts he hadn't touched before. The governer knocked briskly on the doorframe before coming in, looking immaculate. He had had an opportunity to rest and set his appearance to rights, evidently, including his long graying hair, and from his manner they could only assume that his talk with the chief ustak had been successful.

"The ligor will be expecting us for a light meal in a few minutes," he explained. "Are you ready for that?"

"Whenever you are, Governer," Riker replied, hauling in his long legs from where he was sprawling in his chair.

"Is there anything in particular we should be prepared for?" inquired Picard.

Sathene thought for a moment. "I cannot think of anything. The ligor knows you are not servants, Commanders – Lieutenant. Chances are you will be largely ignored, but you _will_ be served by the house servants. Treat them as what they are. If the ligor decides to acknowledge your status as officers he may speak to you. In that case…" Sathene allowed himself a tiny lopsided smile. "In that case you will have to improvise, which I am sure you are adept at. I will have an eye on things."

"You never told us if there is a proper way to address the ligor," said Picard.

The governer looked at him thoughtfully. "That is true. I should have, but frankly I forgot. _Zuno_ is the official term. But quite honestly, I think the form of address you chose served its purpose very well."

The hall they were shown to was smaller than the reception hall and a little less ornate. There was no gold mosaic and no dais. The floor was slabs of polished rose-colored stone; the walls were painted with stylized trees. A row of arches on one side of the room opened on to a gallery overlooking a garden – Picard had a feeling it was the garden adjacent to the main courtyard. Wind harps were humming softly under the arches. Couches, cushions and low tables had been set out in carefully arranged groups, and there were braziers too – two of them, fragrant smoke rising in coils and swirls towards a stuccoed white ceiling. And just inside the door the steward stood waiting.

There were people there, about twenty-three or twenty-five of them, some already seated, others standing in expectant groups. The ligor was sitting on a low divan overlooking the room and conversing with an old man in a tunic of stiff maroon brocade who was standing next to him. The steward ushered Picard to a low cushioned bench set at right angles to the ligor's seat while Sathene was immediately claimed by a huge loud-voiced man and drawn off to a table on the right. Riker, Troi and Worf had a table to themselves, a little further down the hall but well within the cluster.

The captain took his seat to an enthusiastic gesture from the ligor, making sure with a quick look over his shoulder that his officers were cared for. The old man in maroon straightened, thumped the floor with a heavily carved wooden staff, and declared the number of attendees to be complete in a voice that rang with many years of practice. Picard took him to be the Master of Ceremonies, and when the man proceeded to name those present according to their rank and position the captain concluded that he wouldn't get another introduction, and tried to link the string of names to as many faces as he could.

There was the chief ustak – the gray-bearded, almost yellow-eyed man who had been standing behind the ligor's throne. There was Hagea, the ligor's second son, the big-boned young man who had been sitting on the ligor's left. There was the huge man who had greeted Sathene, and who was probably the court physician. There were several noblemen – Seth-Ukane, Eltelta, Zagor-Reta. There were a couple of younger sons who kept in the background with other boys, cousins or courtiers' sons perhaps. There were the women – daughters and concubines probably who had a cluster of tables and cushions to themselves in a corner and whose names were not mentioned while Troi's was. And on a cushioned bench a few meters from her lord's divan there was Sesset, the ligor's First Spouse, a stout, hard-featured beauty with a face framed by the enameled tiara that held her veil in place, and earrings brushing her shoulders. Her eyes, so clear a green Picard could see it from where he sat, went through him as if he were no more substantial than the clouds of scented smoke drifting in the air, and at the same time he felt quite sure that she saw him clearly – saw him and memorized him and in fact evaluated him for whatever his presence might imply. And although he tried he could not catch her eye.

The ligor was as good as his word. He had evidently been waiting to speak with him, and he availed himself of the opportunity as soon as the introductions were over. Now he had an opportunity to study the man, Picard found himself oddly unable to gain an impression. Pale but penetrating eyes, somewhere between amber and gray; the jutting bones of cheeks and jaw and temples that characterized all Girsu faces looked even sharper in Telta-Anreth's, and Picard wondered how old the ligor might be. His long hair, held back in a row of copper-colored clasps, was barely grayer than Sathene's, but his skinniness and the reedy voice suggested a much older man. The ligor's movements, and the look in those eyes, did not.

"So, did they make you welcome at Moga?" he inquired, and when the captain answered in the affirmative he said: "I hope they will show you everything you would like to see. In fact you would be very welcome to stay here for a while. I would tell Eltelta over there to show you round. He is quite a scholar – quite a historian, in fact, knows everything there is to know about this place."

Picard inclined his head a little. "In the name of my superiors, I thank you, Zuno. Personally I would like nothing better. But unfortunately my time is not my own to dispose of."

"Ah, I understand. Matters of duty, eh? Too bad." The ligor beckoned to a servant. "Bring us some _zinthe_. – Difficult to come by in this part of the country," he explained to Picard. "I keep it for special occasions."

The remark seemed to call for a suitable answer, and the captain replied with a phrase he had found to suit almost any occasion. "It is an honor."

"Not at all," beamed the ligor. "You are a very unusual guest, after all. Tell me, what do you think of this country?"

"I haven't been here for more than two days, Zuno. I very much hope I will have the time to see more of your world."

"Ah, but you must. Your superiors wouldn't want you to return with an incomplete report. Moga is a fine city no doubt, but there are more rewarding places. Are you planning to visit Larsa?"

"It depends on a number of things – Ta'Arun Sathene's schedule being one of them," explained Picard. Just then the servant reappeared, bearing a tray with two metal cups and a flask which he set down carefully on the table at his master's elbow. He had been so quick about it that the captain assumed the zinthe, whatever it might be, had actually been kept in readiness.

"A very full schedule no doubt." The ligor waved the servant away and proceeded to pour the beverage himself. It was a clear, pale pink liquid, and Picard found himself hoping it would not turn out to be a variant of the stuff they had been served just prior to the cabinet dinner. "A very conscientious man, always trying to conciliate, to consider everything."

The captain looked up quickly, wondering if he had heard an implied criticism or if he was overinterpreting. The ligor gestured towards the cups. "Please, Captain."

It evidently was his job now to reach for them and hand one to his host. The ligor performed a quick sweep of his fingers over both cups and drank without further ceremony. When Picard followed suit he found to his surprise that zinthe was wine – or at least something quite similar, cool, with a tangy taste that still held a trace of honey, and unmistakably alcoholic.

"You must understand, Captain – as you do, I have no doubt of it – that a man in Ta'Arun Sathene's position cannot afford the openness a mission like yours requires. He has to consider too many things. Politics," shrugged the ligor. "A little more than another turn, and his term of office is due to end. Men like him – brilliant they may be, but instead of being leaders they are the slaves of those they aspire to lead. Ta'Arun Sathene has a great desire to be re-elected once again."

Picard sipped his wine in silence, wondering where this was leading. Two servants arrived before the ligor could continue, bearing trays of small, carefully arranged triangular containers; the trays fitted neatly into the recessed top of the table in front of the ligor's couch, and the servants bowed deeply and simultaneously and withdrew.

"Please, Captain." The ligor reached for a small two-pronged fork. "It's not Larsa, of course, but I have told the cooks to do their best. You really should visit us at Larsa, you know."

"I would very much like to, sir. But I am afraid my ship will not be here until winter," the captain replied.

"Ah, but that doesn't signify. You would be made welcome at any time. My eldest son – Zelda-Unat, he may well be ligor after me – has remained behind at Larsa. You cannot leave an entire palace to courtiers and servants. It goes to rack and ruin. You must have experienced this yourself – I hope you found someone dependable to leave in charge of your vessel, Captain."

"I have complete confidence in him," said Picard with a brief smile.

"Enviable," commented the ligor. "Trustworthy people – they are so rare to find. I'll tell Ta'Arun Sathene how pleased we would be to receive you at Larsa." He skewered something that looked like a large purple olive and chewed thoughtfully. Picard managed a brief look over his shoulder. Riker, Troi and Worf seemed to be doing well enough; they had been served some kind of food, and he saw Riker grinning briefly as the first officer said something to the others. Sathene was carrying on an earnest conversation with the big physician and another man – Picard had to think for a moment before the name came back: Seth-Ukane.

"You have been chosen specifically to learn all about Belet-Irune, and report back, haven't you?" asked Telta-Anreth.

"Yes, Zuno. That is so." Picard chose something that looked like a tiny pastry and lifted it carefully from its plate. The ligor nodded, evidently satisfied.

"I understand. They chose well. Your word will have weight when you inform those you serve, then."

The captain found himself frowning a little. "Forgive me, sir, but why would you think so?"

The ligor gave a dry chuckle. "Why, because you are from a noble family yourself, of course. I can tell."

Picard looked up at that, surprised both by the remark and the conflicting sentiments it triggered. Wry amusement; a trace both of indignation and of disappointment; a sudden and startlingly vivid image of the vineyards of Labarre, the vines flickering and billowing and twisting like waves under a lashing summer rainstorm that had turned the paths into ankle-deep mud within minutes. And something unwelcome, something that took a moment to identify. That he should feel a little stung because the ligor had recognized something in him – _thought_ he had recognized something – that the man valued in himself... _Touché_. Or, as Riker might have put it: Thanks for nothing, sir.

"There. You don't even deny it." The ligor reached for his cup. "I am glad they sent you, and it was a wise decision. I will make sure you are provided with all the information you need. I will also write a letter to your superiors and have it sent to you before you leave this world. And an invitation, of course. We would gladly welcome you back."

The captain hesitated. Part of his mind was still re-evaluating events in the light of this new information, and yes, it made sense – so this was what made Jean-Luc Picard worthy of being spoken to as a near-equal. He recalled his own remark to Troi a little earlier, to the same effect, and then, suddenly and strangely, the moment of dismounting down in the courtyard, and for a moment he felt a fool. Another part saw a succession of events being set into motion, a part that was very much aware now of where this particular conversation was going, and of the hopes his presence had raised, and of the fact that he was deceiving the man about himself and about those he served, not by word but by silence – which conveniently made things easier for himself as well. He couldn't even have told what exactly, what combination of instincts and beliefs, made him decide to burst the bubble.

"Zuno," he said carefully. "I am honored by your good opinion. But I must ask you not to overestimate my part or my influence in this matter. It is not for me to suggest stances, or courses of action." Well, strictly speaking that was not entirely true either. They _would_ ask for his opinion, and he would give it, and he _had_ been picked for this mission because Starfleet wanted him here, him and no other. In this the ligor was quite right. But to say so and not tell the whole truth would be worse than lying outright. And now Telta-Anreth asked, eyes narrowing a little under strong eyebrows in a way that made Picard think, absurdly, of Worf:

"You will not pass on to those who sent you what I am telling you, and what I am willing to show you of this country and its people?"

"Yes, Zuno, I will do that. I will pass on everything I am told, and everything I am shown, by anybody I meet."

There was a short pause. "I understand. If that is your mission, then so you must, of course." The ligor was sitting back a little, watching him intently with shadowed eyes. After another moment he continued, casually reaching out to pick up another tiny delicacy: "But then not everything you will be told and shown will be of equal worth. There are truths and half-truths, and there are important things and trivialities. And Moga…" The ligor spread his hands. "Moga is where politics is made. As I said before, many things may influence what is said there. Let me advise you to avoid self-seeking upstarts. I am told the place is full of them these days – I am sure you know the type. Do they still have this clown whose office it is to remind the rulers of the ruled?"

It took Picard a moment to realize whom the ligor was referring to, and to recognize the question as rhetorical. "Ta'Nemek Gontha, Zuno? I have been introduced to him, yes."

Telta-Anreth gave a soft disgusted sound. "You should not have to waste your time on such, Captain. His sort needs to be reminded that they are known and amply cared for, not encouraged further. The more you grant, the more they ask. It is their way. Such folly – they are quite content in their place when treated well. Do not be deceived: if you wish to know about this world he is not among those you should listen to. He will distort the truth."

"I will remember your warning," Picard said quietly, sensing the quick flash of displeasure more than he saw it.

"_You_ have to be diplomatic, Captain. I quite understand. But I'll say it – and mind you, I don't expect you to answer. The man is a clown, a concession of the kind politicians have to make to those least entitled to them. Sathene over there knows it, and I know it even better. You are a stranger to this world, but I am not. _Speaker_ Gontha is not worth your attention."

Picard frowned slightly at the sheer persistence. "He struck me as –"

"I _said_," interrupted the ligor, raising his voice to override the general murmur of conversation, "I don't expect you to answer." And it came out with such a blend of arrogance and sudden venom and the quick lashing retaliation of a man putting another in his place that for a moment Picard found himself speechless. He felt his color rise before he could stop it; it was all he could do to look down on his suddenly rigid hands, and keep them still.

"You are not eating," the ligor stated in the ringing silence of the hall, sounding almost concerned, the malice gone so quickly that Picard wondered for a moment if he had been mistaken. But then he saw the quick ascertaining look in those pale eyes, and the furtive glances of those within earshot, and knew he had not. "Really, Captain, you should at least try these. Leke livers, something my chief cook prepares exceptionally well."

"Thank you, Zuno. I will," he said calmly – damned if he was going to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him upset, and besides he could feel his own officers' eyes on his face now. _What _is_ he trying to achieve_, he found himself thinking, and a moment later it occurred to him that something had changed, subtly but unmistakably. He felt the courtiers' scrutiny as he had not felt it before, more blatant, less subdued. A quick look showed him that Sathene was looking ill at ease. From somewhere in the background there came laughter, and he suddenly realized that he hadn't heard anyone laughing aloud before. _I think I understand. He's withdrawn his protection, and we are meant to feel it_. Picard bent forward to reach for his cup, and in doing so noticed that he ligor had picked up one of the triangular plates and now was busy eating, ignoring everything around.

"You," a voice said, and at the tone he looked up sharply towards the small cluster of men surrounding the ligor's adult son. He recognized the one who was speaking. Zagor-Reta, older than the prince but much younger than the ligor himself. "You, there. Get me a footstool. Over there, by the pillar."

Fleetingly, the captain met Sathene's eyes, and for once the governer was looking stunned. It told him enough. He was about to get to his feet when he heard his first officer's voice replying, in a tone close enough to neutral to pass: "I, sir?"

"I'm speaking to _her_. Get me that stool, now."

Silence. Picard saw Riker turning his head, slowly and deliberately, towards himself. He saw Troi looking composed, expectant, and he saw Worf – almost crouching now, sitting slightly hunched forward with his elbows on his thighs, eyes shadowed. "I'll do it," Riker said casually before the silence could stretch for too long, and rose. Zagor-Reta did the same.

"I said _her_."

_All right_, Picard heard himself thinking. _That's it_. He caught Riker the moment the first officer was turning away, towards the arches. "Stay where you are, Will." He was getting to his feet himself as he spoke, and putting his cup down with a soft _clack_ that nevertheless echoed through the room. "Forgive me, sirs – Zuno – but there are things we are not supposed to do, _or_ to ask of others. This is one of them. I cannot allow my officers to be asked to run errands."

Silence again, and then a snort. "Your _officers_, Captain?" Zagor-Reta asked, pointedly, voice carrying, and apart from Riker they were the only ones standing now, facing each other across the low tables and the silent audience – _like a play, or a ritual challenge_, Picard thought suddenly. "And I thought they were here to serve."

"They are. So am I. But not to serve _you_." He allowed his tone to grow sharper by an infinitesimal degree, hearing the slight echo (as if the hall had been built to carry a raised voice to the farthest corner) and hoping to God that his instincts were guiding him right. From the corner of his eye he could see Riker's eyes narrowing in understanding, and Troi's hand stealing out to touch Worf's arm in a tiny restraining gesture; he couldn't see the ligor's reactions, not without turning his head. Zagor-Reta took a few steps towards him, quite possibly to intimidate – for the man was tall even for a Girsu, and would have towered head and shoulders above him had he been closer.

"You would forbid _me_ to give orders to your… followers? _You_?" And now Zagor-Reta's hand was on his dagger, and Worf was on his feet. Picard had barely time to turn.

"Not now, Lieutenant!" he snapped, and when Worf, already halfway across the room, froze in his tracks, he added quietly: "I really don't believe I'm in any danger here."

Worf glared at him, and didn't move – neither forwards or backwards. Picard turned back to Zagor-Reta, and answered him as if no interruption had taken place. "No. I would merely forbid them to obey you."

"You appear to believe they would at least obey _you_," the nobleman commented, with an amused look at Worf. "I confess, I would like to know how your orders would keep up" – and he took another step, causing Picard to lift his hand a little in Worf's direction before his Chief of Security could move.

"Oh, we do obey our captain," drawled Riker. "We also protect him. It's part of our duties."

"I see." Zagor-Reta's speculative glance went from Picard to Worf and back again, and then, quite suddenly, his hand dropped from his dagger. He grinned. "I do not intend to chance it, though – not today. Captain, if I were to ask you for the pleasure of giving one order to your followers, and having it obeyed, would you deny me that as well?"

"I cannot answer that," Picard replied calmly. "As I said, there are rules we cannot break." _Even if I have to make them here and now_, his mind added – and by now it probably didn't matter one way or another; if Zagor-Reta chose to be offended he might well find a way to be just that, and there was little or nothing he could do about it.

"Leave the woman alone," Telta-Anreth's voice said unexpectedly, sounding both world-weary and faintly amused. "I will have no unpleasantness here."

Zagor-Reta turned at once, and without a trace of resentment. "Is it your wish, Zuno?"

"It is the captain's wish, and thus my own," the ligor replied quite casually, "and today she is a guest in my house just as you are, Reta. Sit down."

"Yes, Zuno." And with another speculative look that took in Picard, and Worf, and Troi and Riker in turn, Zagor-Reta returned to his seat to nod at Hagea and reach for his drink without further ado, and immediately the tension seemed to drain away. Riker dropped back onto his bench, and a moment later Worf gave a brief nod, and stalked back to the others. Only then did the captain feel himself relaxing a little.

"Come here, child." It was the First Spouse speaking, in a voice like a deep bell, the first time she said a word, and she accompanied the request by a graceful gesture of a hand crisscrossed by sparkling threads – the thin chains linking her rings to her bracelet. Picard followed her glance with mild alarm, to see Troi rising from her stool.

"I, Ma'am?"

"Come. Sit with me." Sesset waved imperiously, and a moment later a servant materialized, placing a large round cushion on the floor. Troi smiled, crossed the room with her head held high, and sank down on the cushion as if she had been born to the office of a lady-in-waiting, even managing a brief reassuring glance at her captain as she did. Another servant hastened to bring refreshments. Picard turned his attention back to the ligor, to find Telta-Anreth watching him with interest.

"That's better. Courtiers," the ligor said, with a gesture that might have been a tolerant shrug had he been human, and the captain realized, a little stunned, that Telta-Anreth had already dismissed the entire incident, had quite possibly expected it, quite possibly felt in complete control of it, and that he had just changed sides again – if, indeed, anything the ligor had said in the course of their conversation could be taken at face value. "Have some more zinthe," and he refilled both cups. By now Picard was reasonably sure that the gesture was meant to distinguish him although he himself would have preferred to leave it at one cup of the oddly sweet wine. The room was still reasonably cool, but the incense was beginning to feel like a weight against his temples, and he was very much aware of the still-blazing heat outside, and the long trip ahead.

"Tell me of your ship, Captain," the ligor said abruptly. "Your officers. This Commander Troi – is she pretty?"

"Pardon me?" said the captain, momentarily taken aback.

"Among your people, would she be considered pretty?"

"Very," he answered rather briefly.

The ligor chuckled. "Thought so. She has the bearing of a woman who knows herself to be pretty. A little exotic, perhaps, but… striking. And your Lieutenant Worf. He is not like you, is he? A warrior caste, perhaps? Those bulges in his face – are they artificial?"

_So now I'm a nobleman again_, Picard thought, _not his equal but worthy of being spoken to almost as if I were_. "No, they are quite natural. He is a Klingon," he answered matter-of-factly, and the ligor nodded.

"A Klingon. I see." No doubt Sathene, or perhaps his secretary, would very soon be required to explain what exactly a Klingon was. And now Telta-Anreth said with a thoughtful look over at Riker and Worf: "I believe I know his like. He would have engaged Zagor-Reta, would he not – weaponless as he is?"

Picard swallowed a small smile. He had reason to believe that Worf was anything but weaponless, appearances notwithstanding – but for all that the ligor's assessment was quite correct. "He is my vessel's security chief," he said, both evasively and matter-of-factly again, and the ligor gave another chuckle.

"He may be that, but the loyalty of such a one is not easily bought. You are a proud man, Captain, but you must know that his service honors you. But be that as it may," he said, dismissing the subject and gesturing to a servant to remove a couple of empty plates. "Your time here will be short today. Let me tell you a little about this country."

**- - - - - - - -**

The white blaze outside had taken on a copper tint when they took their leave. Sathene had finally risen to his feet and respectfully reminded the ligor that they had a long trip ahead of them, and Telta-Anreth did not try to keep them. Riker and Worf had been joined at their table by one of the ligor's younger sons, a boy by the name of Aluné, who had started out being awkward, arrogant and aloof and had ended up asking many questions, and while Worf contributed nothing but grunts and the occasional monosyllable the first officer had done his damnedest to be personable. For all that he was glad to be leaving – so glad, in fact, that he had to restrain himself from leaping to his feet.

He had no idea what the captain and the ligor had been talking about for the past two hours, ever since that noble – Zagor-Reta – had backed down. But Telta-Anreth gestured expansively when Picard rose to take his leave, and found several more things to say, all evidently friendly. He had no idea what Troi and the First Spouse had found to discuss either, but Sesset was even more gracious than her lord, and there was some small commotion as a servant was dispatched, and returned bearing something small that Sesset put into Troi's hands with a smile. After that the farewells were brief.

The honor guard was waiting when they emerged into the yard, still baking hot and silent, and so was the governer's security, and so were the haunira, looking brushed and well-watered. Riker watched the captain assisting Deanna in getting up on hers, and realized Picard would have taken her reins as well – but at that point he intervened. He knew perfectly well the captain was simply doing what he could to shield her from more unwanted attention, but there were limits to what he would allow Jean-Luc Picard to do. _A servant or one of the guardsmen,_ indeed. That's where a first officer came in. For once he knew he had Worf's full approval.

The ride back to the landing pad was accomplished in near-silence. The sunlight slanted through the straggly trees, casting huge gaunt shadows on the slope on their right. Troi didn't bring up the question of the saddle again, and the captain appeared to have lost interest in his surroundings; Riker noticed that even Sathene didn't have the energy left to derive much pleasure from his – well, horsemanship. As for himself, he had reached the stage when he just wanted to get it over with, as soon as possible, to be rid of it all before the veneer started to crack.

He didn't look at Worf specifically. He didn't need to.

"I apologize," Sathene said abruptly just as they were about to board the government flier. "I had no idea there would be such an amount of unpleasantness. I would not have exposed you to it had I known, but I appear to have been very little use preventing it."

_True enough_, Riker found himself thinking. The captain smiled a little, though.

"I don't see how you could have _prevented_ any of it, Governer. I just hope it won't have any repercussions on your work."

"Probably not," Sathene replied grimly, gripping the handle by the door and hauling himself up into the vehicle. "Still –" And then he stopped, because his security was catching up, and Riker noted to himself that the governer would rather not be overheard criticizing the ligor in public. He remained outside to lend Troi a hand, boarding only when Worf walked up to give a silent all clear.

The interior of the flier was an oven. Troi gave an audible groan as she fell into her seat next to the captain, shaking her hair back yet again. Picard regarded her with a trace of concern. "Counselor?" he said just as Riker and Worf took their places opposite, on the bench bisected by the narrow gap leading to the cockpit.

"Let's just say," Troi declared with slightly forced humor, "the next time I do this I may opt for civilian clothing after all."

"Your composure was admirable," murmured Sathene with a slightly embarrassed sideways glance, taking his seat on the other side of the vehicle.

"Thank you, Governer," she said, giving him a look that was equal parts surprised and pleased. Then one of the security guards slammed the door from outside, and went to clamber into the rear compartment while the accelerating thrump of the twin propellers overhead spared Sathene the necessity of an answer.

"Oh, and Will?" Picard said through the noise.

"Sir?"

"I cannot tell you how glad I am you are not my servants," said Picard before leaning back, head resting against the window, and closing his eyes. Riker grinned involuntarily and settled into his seat, legs stretched out in front, to watch the dusty copper-colored dell falling away beneath them.

_Good riddance_. If he never saw the place again that would be quite early enough for him. He felt irritable and sweaty and tired – make that whacked – and in dire need of a long shower, a gallon of coffee and some quiet. Or perhaps just a long shower, a gallon of lissé water and a good swig of that infernal brandy-like stuff before bed. It would be late when they arrived back at Moga.

Not even Sathene pretended to work this time. By the time the flier was heading away from the dusty foothills the governer sat with his elbow on the padded armrest and his chin in his hand, looking thoughtful and staring at nothing. Riker gave Worf a brief inconspicuous look, noticing the slightly dishevelled ponytail and traces of sweat and the ubiquitous dust, but otherwise Worf was his usual self, bolt upright and contemplating some point just beyond the vehicle's roof. Opposite, Picard sat with his eyes closed and his hands on his knees, dozing perhaps if definitely not asleep. A moment later Riker realized that Deanna, on the other hand, _was_ asleep – on the seat beside Picard, with her head resting on the captain's shoulder.

The sight gave him pause. At first he almost smiled. Christ, they had to be exhausted for that – both of them. And Deanna was very lovely with her tangled curls and calm face. And Picard – well, Riker sure as hell hoped he was getting some rest from whatever exactly it was that had been going on back there. _Something tells me I wouldn't like it_, he thought, disconnectedly, feeling vaguely ashamed and oddly protective. If he'd known he would have squeezed in with the pilots again, leaving the two of them a seat each. Or else he would have offered Deanna his own shoulder – for they all knew about the captain and physical contact, and she might have been more at ease with someone who really didn't mind. But then she would have taken the seat next to him anyway if she had… And then the thought trailed off, and Riker found himself frowning.

_She would have_. No doubt about it. If she was that tired she would have sat down next to him. A shoulder to sleep on. Comfort and reassurance, too. They were such old friends. Only she hadn't. And suddenly it hurt – a brief sharp pang that made him grit his teeth, not that she wasn't sitting next to him but that she felt she rather wouldn't. _So much for reassurance_. For one brief moment he wondered if she was doing it on purpose. Then he could have kicked himself for his pettiness. _She isn't _doing_ anything. She simply doesn't feel comfortable with me. And she's right. I let her down – we went behind her back, the two of us, and now_…

He looked at Worf again, and found him looking at Picard and Troi as well, an unreadable expression on his face. _I wonder_, he thought while another pang, different but as sharp, went through him. _I wonder if he's just thought something similar – they might have been together, and now they're not. Perhaps he loves her. Hell, maybe he loves her as much as I do. Perhaps she… I don't know what we did there any more – _

He bit his lip. _It's not fair on her. It's not fair on all of us, but she's bearing the brunt of it. Because we thought we settled it, and now… As if we could. And still, I couldn't leave alone if I tried, and anyway, I can't, not now._ _It's gone too far for that…_

_I'll talk to her, _he thought and forced his thoughts away from it. _Nothing I can do now_.

He _could_ start sorting out his impressions of this trip instead. Picard would ask for them. Or else watch the countryside below, the copper slowly fading to gray; exhausted as he was, it seemed the better option of the two.

He started when the flier swerved, the lights of Moga swinging into view, a glittering carpet, startlingly close and clear. The cabin was almost dark but growing brighter with the lights below. Sathene was looking out the window on his side. Deanna was still asleep, dark hair tumbling over the captain's uniform. Picard – well, it was difficult to tell. Riker bent forward, and when he got no reaction he reached out to touch his arm. "Captain," the first officer said, as quietly as the roar of the engines would allow. "Captain?"

"Yes, Will." Picard looked up immediately, and a moment later winced, fingers reflexively going to a spot just between his eyebrows. Troi sat up abruptly, wide awake. Riker frowned.

"Headache, sir?"

The captain gave one brief nod and dropped his hand, clearly embarrassed at having let it show. Riker drew back, trying to assess how bad it was. Bad, by all appearances. A hypo would have taken care of it, but they didn't have one. Lieutenant Kioning was in charge of the medkit –

"It's all right, Will." Picard gave him a small smile, confirming Riker's suspicions that it wasn't.

"We're descending," Troi said softly. "How late is it?"

"Two _sere_ to midnight," supplied the governer. _Well_ _past eleven – I think_, thought Riker; the Belet-Irune day, a little over twenty-seven hours in length, and its eighty subdivisions still managed to confound him. And now Sathene said: "I would like to thank you – all of you. This is not an official thanks, but it _is_ something I wish to say. Tomorrow –"

"Please, Governer," Troi interrupted, half-jesting. "Not too early tomorrow."

Sathene gave her one of those wry looks. "No, Commander. Certainly not."

**- - - - - - - - -** **

* * *

**

_Dramatis personae_ for this chapter:

Ulaz Ta'Arun **Sathene**: Head of Turië's government, or "governer"  
**Telta-Anreth**: "the Wielder", the Tala _ligor_ or emperor  
**Hagea**: the ligor's second son  
**Zagor-Reta**: Tala nobleman at the ligor's court  
**Sesset**: the ligor's First Spouse


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's notes**: Another one with a _dramatis personae_, just in case.

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 10**

„You might be interested to hear, sir," Riker said over breakfast, "according to Data a team of local engineers spent the best part of yesterday on that airfield, trying to get into the _Calypso_, and when they couldn't they settled for a _very_ thorough examination of the exterior."

"Did you expect otherwise?" inquired Picard, amused.

Worf gave him a mildly reproachful look. "Do you wish me to post a guard from now on, Captain?" he asked without much hope.

Picard didn't disappoint him. "I really don't think that will be necessary, Lieutenant. There isn't much they can find out that way, and after yesterday I wouldn't ask anybody to stand guard in this sun without a very good reason."

"My people would –" began Worf, and stopped. "Yes, Captain," he said, on a note of resignation.

"You're feeling better, sir," stated Troi, handing Picard another cup of spiced tea in exchange for the cakes and getting a trace of a smile and a very slightly embarrassed nod in reply. As if by silent consent the previous day had so far been mentioned only in the most general terms. There would be time for that later.

The captain was feeling very considerably better – which in itself wasn't saying much. By the time they had arrived back at Council House he had been nearly blinded with pain, and barely able to respond coherently when Sathene took his leave. Riker had turned up in his quarters soon after, with a hypospray – the origins of which were a mystery to Picard, but he hadn't had the will to go into it. It got rid of his splitting headache within a minute or so, leaving him fagged but clear. _I wouldn't have thought myself that much of a wimp without all that technology_, he thought with wry amusement as he sipped his tea.

"What is today's schedule, Captain?" asked Troi – who was looking remarkably fresh and rested, even if she did wear her hair pinned up today.

"I'm not sure there is one. But I shouldn't be surprised if that audience were to have a diplomatic aftermath."

"What _did_ you find to talk about with the ligor for two solid hours, sir?" inquired Riker.

"He told me about this country, including his view of the Tala-Hurso question. It's a matter of some concern to him. He is aware of the fact that many of the people we are most likely to associate with may not share his views, and he wants to make sure his side is heard."

Riker gave his captain a searching look, but Picard gave no indication of his own opinion, or even of whether or not he had one. Instead he added: "I confess I was a little worried when the First Spouse summoned you like that, Counselor, but apparently you… got along quite well."

"Meaning, what did _we_ find to talk about for two solid hours?" Troi replied with a smile. "Actually, I was going to bring it up. Do you think you may have a few minutes – later today, perhaps?"

"I very much hope so," Picard said, and correctly interpreting her look he reached for the platter of hot cakes once more, only to find it empty. Worf had been quietly demolishing the remainder of them, listening to the conversation and never saying another word. Troi turned up her eyes. Riker grinned. Picard took refuge in his tea, eyes crinkling.

Este Zikané appeared a little later, politely asking if they wished to join the governer or if they would prefer to spend the day on other pursuits. Riker thought he could see a distinctly amused look in his captain's eyes as Picard assured the secretary that they were entirely at the governer's disposal.

It was Sathene, Halé and Gontha again that day, waiting in the small conference room they already knew. The minister for Interior Affairs was sitting, massive and alert behind the table. The Hurso representative was seated too, off to one side, as if trying to be unobtrusive. The governer was on his feet by one of the windows, silhouetted against the lush pale foliage of the garden outside, but he turned the moment he heard them entering. There was a tension in the air they all felt – as if something had been decided with regard to them, something momentous. Picard silently acknowledged the warning look Troi gave him as they took their seats, but she had a feeling he didn't need it.

"I am delighted to see you all looking so well," Sathene said as he took his own seat. "Yesterday was a difficult day even for me, Captain, and I am used to the circumstances – believe me, I had no intention of subjecting you or your officers to these… hardships."

"I'm well aware of that," Picard replied politely. "But please believe _me_, Ta'Arun, we have been through much worse."

_Brave words after last night, sir, _Troi heard herself thinking, and sensed wry amusement from the captain as well – but of course the governer didn't know about that part of it. And Sathene merely replied with an _all is well then_ gesture, and took a deep breath.

"I have… invited you here for a purpose today, Captain. That's not to say our earlier meetings were without purpose, of course," he added wryly. "But this is… different. Let me explain. In a way it is unfortunate you arrived at such a time. You're hardly catching us at our best. We can barely agree on how to meet you. Every meeting – great Tamur, every _moment_ speaks of disagreement and divisions. We may be on the brink of civil unrest – again. We may not have noticed it until very recently, but it seems things are coming to a head right now, our problems catching up with us – not for the first time, I might add…" Sathene's smile looked more like a baring of the teeth. "And we are dragging you into our arguments even while we are trying to decide what to do. I am sorry, Captain – forgive me. This is not how I would have arranged it."

"It is hardly your fault, though," said the captain, and Troi thought, as she sometimes did, that she could almost hear thought moving on the edge of the feeling – wariness bordering on apprehension in this case, and something that might well have been what she was thinking herself: _Are you getting at what I believe you are getting at, __Governer?_ "The time of our arrival was very much a matter of chance, after all."

"Probably – but even so. Try to understand, please," said Sathene. "We are trying to build a viable future. I sincerely believe most people in this country do. I have no doubts at all regarding my colleagues on this cabinet. But to find a way of doing what you believe to be best, among pitfalls too numerous to mention… even to find out what exactly it is you want to do, in the long run, and keep it in mind…"

"It seems to me," Picard said cautiously, "that you already know what you want to do."

Sathene was looking very tense now, and there was no sound from his colleagues. "We know what we ultimately want to achieve, Captain. It is very difficult, it will take a long time and probably a lot of sacrifices. And forgive my saying so, I have been thinking that the time of your arrival here may yet turn out to be more than a matter of chance. To be quite blunt about it, I am under the impression that you could help us achieve it quicker, easier and much less painfully."

"What makes you think that, Governer?"

"The fact that you are here, that you accepted our invitation. Your technology. The sheer size of your Federation, the evidence that your society has the resources needed for the kind of work you do, and is willing to use them that way. Halé and I spent a couple of hours trying to get our minds around the kind of administration you people must have. I'm willing to bet you could effect… you could help us do away with a lot of the things that are hampering our progress – poverty, ignorance, backwardness. If you put your minds and your resources to it. And you would gain an ally." Sathene took a long, slightly shaky breath. "There. Now I've said it."

Picard looked down on his tightly locked hands. Troi bit her lip and looked at the captain, sensing without turning her head that Riker and Worf did the same. There was a silence.

"We can't," Picard said then, in a tone that was utterly decisive and still held an edge of regret. "I am sorry, Governer, but what you are asking is impossible. We can't do it."

"Just like that?" Sathene's voice rose a little. "What do you mean, you can't? Captain, are you telling me you _couldn't_ make a difference? I would… Don't take this the wrong way, but I would find that hard to believe."

"You would be right, Ta'Arun. We could _effect_, as you put it, a lot of things. We just cannot, we must not, do it."

"Forgive me," Sathene said after a pause, and with an audible effort, "but is that your decision to make? Aren't you going to _think_ about it at least?"

"There is nothing to think about." Picard looked up, his expression inscrutable, and Troi felt her heart going out to him. "It's not my decision, Governer – it is a decision that has been made for me by my superiors, and which I support. It's called the Prime Directive. We cannot interfere in the normal development of a society. All I can tell you is something you already know. It is well within your powers to achieve what you want to achieve. But we cannot do it for you, for a number of reasons. I am very sorry."

"I could almost believe that," Sathene whispered. Then, stronger: "Can you at least _name_ some of your reasons?"

"Yes," Picard said slowly. "I can do that. One of them is very simple. As an officer, I have sworn to uphold the Prime Directive, with my life if necessary, and I sincerely believe it has prevented more damage than it has caused. I am bound by that oath. Another is this. We could conceivably equip your world with technology that would eradicate some of your problems. But believe me, it would create new ones. It would not eliminate the antipathies and the resentment. It would just uproot your entire society, leave your people stranded in an unrecognizable world. There is no technology that could deal with _that_. And as a civilization you would be cheated out of the experiences of years and decades – experiences you may need in the future. The solutions of one world may not be the solutions of another. The ramifications are endless, Governer. Nobody could take those chances, or accept that responsibility. You'll have to do this your way."

Troi could see Sathene's hands clenching for a moment on the table. "Is there anything I could say –"

"No." Picard's voice was hard enough to make Troi flinch, even though she had been expecting it. The silence was tangible, barely broken by what sounded like a sigh from Gontha in the background.

"Very well," Sathene said then, after what had to be a minute or more, his tone matching the captain's for a moment. "An oath is an oath. After all, we're not worse off than before." He managed what looked like a singularly wry smile. "But it had to be tried."

"Yes," Picard agreed softly.

Abruptly, Minister Halé asked: "Then why, Captain, are you here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The United Federation of Planets sends you here, to a world that's got to be pretty primitive by your standards." Halé's voice was all business, almost without bitterness. "You people must have a reason for taking an interest."

"You are there." Picard smiled a little. "You are there, in a part of the galaxy we know little about. That in itself would have been reason enough. Our mandate is to explore. That's what we do."

"But that was not the only reason."

"No." The captain was silent for a moment. "You _invited_ us, Minister. You knew about us years before we knew about you. We wouldn't be here if you hadn't – we would never have set foot on your planet. But after your message reached us… anybody would take an interest after that."

"You did say something about having to consider _a number of sources_ of our knowledge." Halé nodded. "It's not just you people, is it. Not just your Federation. There are other people too – possibly a great many other people. – Tell me something, Lieutenant," he said, abruptly turning to Worf. "Were _you_ born on the captain's world – Terra, if I got that right?"

Worf's eyes met Picard's for the briefest of moments. "No," he said then.

"Thought so," Halé commented with grim satisfaction. "Tell you something. Before you leave here, Captain, I'm going to ask you what it takes to qualify for that _federation_ of yours, and you'd better have an answer to that. Because you can take it from me, now Ongar has been proven right after all these turns we're not going to give this up."

"I believe you, Minister." Picard turned back to Sathene. "I also think you weren't going to bring this up so soon. What happened?"

Now Sathene exchanged a look with Halé and then with Gontha, without any pretense of doing otherwise. "The Major," he said. "Ras Hettith. I told you about him the other day. He's been busy since. I found the news this morning. What it comes to is that we could be in for another uprising."

"Naturally, we keep an eye on known followers of his," Halé explained. "Seems that several of them just disappeared from sight yesterday. Bad sign. And there's been a lot of activity… well. Let's just say we're prepared for just about anything at this point."

"It may not come to that," the Hurso representative said softly.

Halé shot him a brief look that might even have held a touch of sympathy, too brief to tell for certain. "That's right, it may not. But let's face facts, Gontha. We both know the fellow. Anyway," he continued, turning back to Picard, "we had this idea that… well, that with the sort of things you people might be able to do we could just… well, settle this. One way or another. Not once and for all perhaps but for the moment. May have been a little naïve, now I think of it."

Picard frowned a little. "What exactly did you think we could do in the matter, Minister?"

"I have no idea what you _can_ do. But I bet you could do _something_ to stop our old friend Ras Hettith from starting another civil war."

"Do you still believe his activities may be a result of our arrival here?"

"Shouldn't surprise me at all," said Halé. "Or at least, that'll be his excuse."

Sathene nodded once. "As I thought, he may well be… as a matter of fact, there are indications that he _is_ working on some people's fears that you are allies of the… the ruling classes. The people who sought contact with you in the first place."

"If we were to help you put a stop to him we'd prove him right, wouldn't we?" Troi asked softly, and Gontha's head snapped round at her voice as if he had been slapped.

"Actually," he said sharply, "that _is_ what I have been thinking."

"Governer," Picard said, "will you excuse us for a while? This is something I would prefer to discuss with my officers in private."

"Of course, Captain. As a matter of fact…" Another brief and tense smile. "I understand."

**- - - - - - - -**

They found Lieutenant Kioning in the anteroom, clearly waiting and surprised at not having to wait longer, but Worf immediately took him aside, leaving the center of the room to the others. The captain made for a seat, thought better of it and started to pace. Troi chose a stool and sat down, trying by her mere posture to convey calm and serenity. Riker slumped down on another stool and waited for Worf to finish his business with Kioning, barely concealing his impatience. It was only a minute or so before the Klingon joined them. Troi watched him taking up a position close to the fountain – not sitting down, of course; he never did that unless the situation demanded it, and he certainly didn't do it as long as his captain was on his feet. So he just stood there, ramrod-straight and scowling, hands at his sides, at what he considered to be ease. Troi looked away to hide her smile.

"Well," said Picard, coming to a momentary rest. "Conference. I believe there is no doubt that our… status has changed quite considerably."

"Captain, before we go on, I'd like you to know that it hasn't changed as far as Sathene, Halé or even Gontha are concerned. And they certainly don't blame us for these developments."

"Are you telling me they weren't disappointed at our refusal to intervene, Counselor?"

"No. They were certainly _disappointed_. Very much so. There may well be some bitterness now. But at the same time it was like… well, as if they hadn't really expected a solution that simple to be for real." She smiled a little. "Although Sathene was very serious when he said the Federation would gain an ally in exchange for our help."

"A useless ally," Worf put in. "They could do nothing for the Federation."

"He doesn't know that," she said, a little sharply. "It was an honest offer."

"An offer he made because he was hoping for benefits," Worf said inexorably.

"In any case it seems we have done the very thing we weren't supposed to do," said Picard, firmly putting the discussion back on track. "There is a very real danger that we caused this turn of events."

"Frankly, sir, and for what it's worth" – Riker's grin was more crooked than usual – "I get the impression that this turn of events was unavoidable. It might not have happened yesterday, but it _would_ have happened – probably sooner rather than later."

"I am aware of that, Will. But we are all of us aware that it did happen yesterday, and that we may well appear to have acted true to somebody's propaganda, no matter what our intentions were. In that case we are even now playing a part in the minds and plans of these people. Thoughts?"

"We've been doing that before we even arrived here, sir," Riker said bluntly. "We've been walking into a lot of preconceived ideas. And Worf's quite right – if this Ras Hettith is trying to take advantage of our being here he doesn't appear to be the only one."

"Yes, I suppose they were going to ask for technological help in any case – or were they, Counselor?" asked Picard.

Troi nodded. "I am almost certain of it. Not for our help in fighting their civil war, of course – they couldn't possibly foresee _that_ development. But we do seem to fit right into several parties' agendas."

"We cannot be held responsible for others' assumptions about us," stated Worf brusquely, with such utter certainty that Picard seemed on the brink of smiling for a moment before he replied.

"Can't we?"

Worf frowned, thought and stood his ground. "No, Captain. You said and did nothing that would have made us allies of these… _Tala_. If this Ras Hettith says otherwise for some twisted purpose of his own the responsibility is his."

"He may _believe_ otherwise, Mr. Worf. Wars have been started over smaller misunderstandings."

"Then he is a fool. Even Ta'Nemek Gontha knows better."

"Ta'Nemek Gontha was here with us," Troi almost snapped. "He heard us and saw us. Hettith didn't. And whatever _he_ may truly believe or not, a lot of people appear to believe him. We didn't _cause_ this situation, but we became a part of it just by being here at the wrong time. Now we are involved in it. I really don't think we can simply wash our hands of this."

"Actually, I suppose we could get out. Now. Before we cause any more damage." Riker's voice was coldly matter-of-fact, deliberating even as he spoke. "Let's face it – there's no way we can undo this mess, and we have a very good chance of making it worse if we stay any longer."

"Are you playing Devil's advocate again, Will?" Picard asked softly, after a pause that was lost on neither of the other two.

Riker shrugged. "It's one option. Probably not the worst one."

"Probably not," the captain agreed, even more softly.

"You haven't told us what exactly your orders are for this mission, sir," Troi said carefully.

"My orders, Counselor, give me wide-ranging discretionary powers. I believe, though, that under the current circumstances Starfleet would strongly advise leaving immediately."

"Under the current circumstances they might just make that an order," Riker put in.

"Yes, Number One, that is a distinct possibility." Picard sat down at last, or almost sat down – perched on the edge of the basin, ready to take off again any moment. But he didn't. After a few moments he said: "Anything else?"

"Captain." Worf was frowning again, evidently uncomfortable with what he was going to say. "I do not approve of this Ras Hettith's actions. They are… dishonorable. But these people – this ligor in his palace and those who think like him – they offend me too. I would not wish to be counted as one of them."

"We'll have to remember that most Tala don't appear to think like the ligor, Lieutenant." And before Worf could reply the captain added: "Having said that, Mr. Worf – neither would I."

Worf frowned at him for a moment longer. Then he nodded, once, very deliberately, and transferred his attention to the fountain.

**- - - - - - - -**

_Dramatis personae_ for this chapter:

Ulaz Ta'Arun **Sathene**: Head of Turië's government, or "governer"  
Senna Arun **Halé**: Turië's Minister for Interior Affairs  
Hirun Ta'Nemek **Gontha**: the official Hurso representative, or "speaker", on the cabinet  
Ekur Este **Zikané**: the governer's secretary  
Astorga "Ras" **Hettith**: „the Major", a Hurso leader


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes:** I apologize for the huge delay! This is a strange chapter. Nothing like this ever happened in the show, so I wasn't entirely sure I got the voices right – Picard's in particular. I'm still not sure. But all attempts at revision led back to _this_, so I suppose this is what it wants to be like for now.

- - - - - - - - -

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 11**

They hadn't made an appointment, or anything of that nature, but when Troi knocked softly on the captain's door that evening she had a distinct feeling that she was being expected. In fact she had a feeling that he was waiting to speak to her just as she had been waiting to speak to him, and not just because she owed him a briefing.

She believed she knew what about, too. He was concerned, had been growing steadily more so ever since they had arrived at this world. In retrospect it was probably unavoidable. She had been seeking him out in a way he had to notice, eventually – and Deanna Troi smiled a little grimly when she admitted to herself that maybe she had even been putting her own comfort ahead of somebody else's, namely that of her commanding officer.

For his presence _was_ comforting. The calm, the ordered strength, rock-solid; carefully hidden warmth rather than the wildly fluctuating emotions she sensed from the other two – with him it was a matter of heart and mind, not of hormones. And she sought that calm and strength like a physical refuge.

"Come," he called from inside, and she pushed the huge door open to enter. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on a table next to a group of massive armchairs. The captain was somewhere in the background, a movement more than a discernible shape, pouring a cup of lissé water, thus giving her a moment to probe into his emotional state. Calmer than earlier that day, much calmer than yesterday (but they had all been worn very thin then); some of the serenity was back in place. And he was back on familiar ground, not comfortable with it, but… confident. Determined too. Entanglements both moral and diplomatic might be taxing, but they were his business – not that he would readily admit to the _moral_ part. She found herself smiling a little as she stepped into the pool of light, and just then he appeared from the shadows himself, an ornate goblet in either hand.

"Do you have those few minutes you asked for this morning, Captain?" she inquired.

"Of course. Please –" He gestured towards one of the armchairs, incurably courteous. They were more like ottomans, and designed for beings more than a foot taller than she was; Troi resisted the immediate temptation to pull her legs up and under herself.

"Well." He handed her one of the goblets, and sank into the chair opposite; she suppressed another smile when she realized, for the first time, that the furniture was too large for him as well. One tended to forget it with Will and Worf around. "I'm entirely at your disposal, Counselor."

"Then I'll start with yesterday. You asked about Sesset… about the First Spouse." She frowned a little on recalling the conversation at the ligor's palace. "What it comes to is that she wanted information. She was very good at asking questions, especially considering that I don't remember her actually asking a single one."

"Is that why she befriended you?"

"I believe she used that incident over the stool to do what she had every intention of doing anyway. And she certainly used the gratitude I could be expected to feel to her advantage. Very gracious, very persistent and very intelligent."

"Would you say, then, that the general status of women on this continent doesn't apply to her?" inquired the captain.

"No," she replied, decidedly. "I wouldn't say that at all. She knows her place. In fact she takes pride in it. Of course it is a very exalted place, but it is very much in keeping with what we have learned so far. She is comfortable with it – she was much more comfortable dealing with _me_ than, say, Ta'Nemek Gontha is, or even Governer Sathene. In fact I'm tempted to conclude that she pitied me, a little. But she also knows how to use her position for all it is worth. _Everything_ she wanted to know would have been of interest to the ligor."

"I see." Now it was his turn to frown. "What was it she wanted to know?"

"A few things about me personally, but that was curiosity – not what she was really interested in. A lot of things about us – the _Enterprise_, the Federation, the things we do and our reasons for doing them." She tilted her head. "Does that surprise you, Captain?"

"Well, yes and no," he said thoughtfully. "It makes sense. Originally I would have expected the ligor to ask the questions, but he didn't. Instead he informed me – you might say _instructed_ me – about the political situation. He all but told me what attitude to adopt. The impression I got was that he expects benefits from my report, and from the possible future relations between Belet-Irune and the Federation. Political benefits."

"Between them," said Troi, "they made the most of our visit there."

She watched him take a thoughtful sip from his goblet. After a moment he said: "I am sorry, Counselor. It must have been a very trying day. I am sorry you had to put up with all that."

"Thank you, Captain – but it was worth it," she said, not at all thrown off by the seeming non sequitur. She tilted her head a little. "I also think _you_ have been at the receiving end of some of the points that were made. Am I wrong?"

"No," he confessed, and she had a brief, fleeting impression of anger and humiliation, like an echo of what she had felt from him back at the ligor's palace. "They were playing a game, weren't they?"

"The ligor was. I think everybody else was simply responding to cues." She studied him for a moment. "In Telta-Anreth's eyes, every living being is a subject," she added gently. "And every action not in keeping with this is a transgression."

He looked up at that, and after a moment she saw his eyes crinkle. "It's that transparent, is it?"

"Well," she conceded with an answering smile, "I _have_ known you for some time, Captain."

He acknowledged it with a tiny gesture of the hand that held his cup, and remained silent. After a moment she said: "I am not quite sure what to do with her gift, though."

"What is it?"

"A hair ornament I think – a small jeweled clasp. I believe it would be quite valuable on this world. She said it was from her own casket, something to remember her by. I haven't forgotten we are not supposed to accept personal gifts, Captain, but I don't see how I could have refused it."

"You couldn't. Keep it – it may be just what she said, a keepsake. In a few years' time," he added with a slight smile, "it may be the only thing that sets this mission apart from any other."

She nodded, a little dismayed to find that her thoughts had jumped to that anti-time future the moment he mentioned the future at all. _Get a grip_, she told herself severely and decided to change the subject.

"Are you going to contact Starfleet about our situation here, Captain?"

"No. Starfleet knows far less about the situation than we do. And it would take days for an answer to get back. I'll use my own discretion in this."

She took it in, entirely unsurprised. „And have you decided what to do?"

"Yes. I have" – and for a moment she thought he would get to his feet, before he leaned back again. There was no viewport looking out on the stars here, she realized, amused. "We'll stay for the time being. As a matter of fact Sathene asked me to."

"Was that your reason?" she asked. She was almost certain he had made up his mind quite independent of anything Governer Sathene might have said, but it was important to know.

"No. I suppose… well, we seem to have acted as a catalyst of sorts, however unintentional. It seems only fair that we help undo the damage – within limits. We won't provide anything they couldn't come up with themselves. I will take no action to resolve this situation one way or another, and I will not take sides."

"I think I understand. You will mediate – act as a catalyst again if they ask you?"

"Yes," he said, adding after a moment: "Sathene has more or less done it already this afternoon. I have also asked Will to find out what he can about this probe program. The governer has promised to provide him with some specialist who can help. _Somebody_ gave these people the knowledge that we exist, and the technology to contact us. It doesn't seem to have done any good. I want to know who did this, and why. And since they are not going to tell us, we'll have to find out ourselves, in a more… roundabout way."

She nodded, leaning back in her chair. It was peaceful in here, not entirely relaxed but quiet and focused, a little like the ready room on the _Enterprise_. More than a little like it. He made it so, of course. Troi took a sip of water and looked around. The room was altogether too large, both for its purpose and for the two of them, but the pool of light in which they were sitting felt quite comfortable. And it was oddly reassuring to know that the captain had decided the way he had. _Some things in this universe_, she thought, taking another sip, _remain constant_.

But there was something else coming, now.

"Deanna," he said, slowly, the use of her name warning her that the question was going to be personal – as if he didn't know she must have sensed it well in advance – courtesy again, she thought, masking both mild embarrassment and very real affection, and her heart warmed. "You are aware that I try not to interfere in the personal affairs of my officers. But –" and his eyes fell for a moment, glancing at the goblet he held and then up again – "I have a feeling that you are… uncomfortable around both Will and Worf. I won't pretend to know what's going on. But after our recent experiences…" A deep breath. "I would imagine it must have been unsettling," he said gently. "If there is anything I can do to help…"

She had to hide a smile at that, even though she was touched, and he was right on target. _Our_ recent experiences indeed. And that subtle suggestion that what he had found in that anti-time future that had been waiting for them – _had_ been waiting, she reminded herself, not _was_ waiting – might have been unsettling for _her_ – not, be it noted, for him. She could have told him that the haunted look in his eyes as he told them about it would remain graven in her memory for the remainder of her days. But of course she wouldn't.

_Unsettling_ indeed. She had even found herself wondering if Deanna Troi might not have had the best of it – at least she, being dead already, had had no part in the vision he had seen, that bleak story of heartbreak and betrayal. Not that he had used these words. But then there had been no need to. He had told her of his experiences, and she knew.

She had asked him for details, of course. She had given all the others ample time to ask their own questions, and then she had taken an opportunity herself – to ask the question that had been worrying at the back of her mind: _Do you know how I died, Captain?_

He had grown very still at that, but he had answered. Truthfully, she knew, although she had a strong suspicion that he would have refused to answer had he known. "No. I don't." And she had taken a deep breath, relieved in spite of herself. The rational part of her mind might know that that particular death was now no more likely than any other – but even so.

And now, of course, that future that must not be was having its effects on the present. She knew that – but again, knowing it rationally didn't necessarily provide you with an antidote to the anger and humiliation and hurt.

"Thank you, Captain." Her smile turned wry. Did she want to talk about it? Obvious as she had apparently been about it, she probably did. On the other hand she certainly didn't want to burden him with _that_. "But we'll sort it out. It won't affect my performance of my duties," she added.

"That's not what I meant," he said quietly, and she felt, to her dismay, the sudden prick of tears behind her eyes. She _knew_ he'd rather face a hall full of furious Klingons than probe into the emotional troubles of his counselor, she could sense it – but nevertheless that was what he did.

"I know," she heard herself whispering, and then she lifted her head and faced him. She would _not_ cry. She absolutely refused to lose control – in front of him of all people, after keeping it with Will and Worf, Sathene and Gontha, the cabinet, the ligor's household and everybody else. Even if, for one insane moment, the thought of breaking down and crying on his shoulder had been dangerously tempting. Poor man, she reminded herself. He would be too embarrassed for words.

"In brief, Captain, the situation is this." She looked down on her hands for a moment, deciding how best to put it, all professional detachment. "We were all shaken by what you told us about the future you witnessed – you know that. In our case – Will's, Worf's and my own – we had to face the fact that Will's refusal to come to terms with Worf and myself getting involved destroyed not only our relationship but their friendship as well, and that the situation may even have contributed to my own untimely death somehow." She smiled, a little grimly this time. "After that, Worf decided not to pursue the relationship. I have no doubt he considered it the best thing for all concerned." Had that sounded too bitter? Too hurt? She hurried on, careful to make her tone lighter: "What you noticed is the aftermath of all that, Captain. We'll… we'll manage." And why did her voice have to falter over the last word?

"I know you will." He frowned a little, and set the cup down. "But again, that's not what I meant." And then he fell silent, as if he didn't know how to go on. She watched him for a moment, saw the crease between his eyebrows deepen, felt him positively pushing himself towards the next question – but she did nothing to stop him from asking it.

"It was a solitary decision on Worf's part?" Very carefully now, and very hesitantly.

"I have a feeling," she said, "that they came to a sort of… gentlemen's agreement." And that was as far as she got; to her dismay, she suddenly knew that if she said one more word her voice would break beyond hope and recall. It was shaking desperately as it was. She bit her lip and stared fixedly ahead; that way at least she might be able to keep the tears from falling.

"Deanna –" he said after a pause; she wasn't looking at him, but his voice was gentle. "I am… I won't say I know what you are going through. Of course I do not. I merely know – and I do know _that_…" He faltered at that, and she still didn't look at him, concentrating instead on trying not to blink. "_Nil pluriformius amore_," he said at last, very softly. "Nothing more manifold than love. For what it's worth under the circumstances, and for all it came to do to you, you are loved very much there."

She did look round at that in sheer surprise, and almost snorted a despairing laugh – he was as studiously avoiding looking at her as she had, a moment earlier, avoided looking at him, contemplating a point somewhat to the left of her chair instead. But he was not finished. After a moment he went on, more softly still.

"Deanna, nobody could tell you in good faith that it will become right again. You know that, so I won't insult… well. But for what it's worth, you will always have _that_. And, again for what it's worth and because you saw fit to tell me this" – a tiny hesitation – "whatever else _I _may be, I am your friend. I may not be able to be of any help whatsoever. But when you feel like… like trying it, I'll be here…"

The voice fell silent, as if he had come to the utmost limit of what he could bring himself to say. She simply sat there for a few more seconds, bolt upright, listening. She couldn't even sense embarrassment now. She couldn't sense a thing except what he had told her. But she had to make sure.

"Captain," she whispered, "what are you saying?"

A pause. She wouldn't have thought he could speak more softly still, but somehow he managed, eyes firmly lowered on his clasped hands now. "I suppose… I suppose what I am saying is that sometimes there is no right way out. We cannot help having been in a given place at a given time, and we cannot help others' feelings about us, or the conflicts they put us in. We… sometimes all we can do is to try and behave with honor and decency, and hope others will do the same. Sometimes that is the shape love will take, the only shape it can…"

Silence. She sat there wide-eyed, hearing her heart beating. And _I suppose_, the voice in her head said quite clearly, _I know what I came for now_…

She got to her feet, and very gently set the goblet down. It must be getting quite late. He looked up in alarm, and on seeing her face started to his feet as well, and she quickly shook her head. "It's all right, Captain. I… I'm all right." And then she had to add, more strongly: "I _am_, sir. I'm… that is to say, thank you."

She didn't touch him, because that _would_ have embarrassed him. She merely smiled at him, through the tears, hoping it was a reassuring smile, and turned towards the door – leaving him somewhat confused, she had no doubt at all about that, and a little alarmed, very probably. But really her voice wasn't good for much more, and she had to be alone now with the things he had said, even if she did wish for once that the captain had some Betazoid blood himself, and knew that really, it was all right.

She pulled his door closed behind her, and dashed across the anteroom towards her own, for the last thing she needed now was for one of those two idiots to see her, with the tears streaming down her face, and ask her stupid questions.

_You are loved very much there_, she thought on gaining the safety of her own quarters, and now she was sobbing with both tears and incredulous relief, because it didn't, it really didn't hurt quite that much now, or if it did, it didn't take up so much space. _But I _knew_ that, _she thought_, just… didn't know it_. And: _If it does not come right again… if it does not… I'll still have that._

It didn't mean her heart wasn't broken. It didn't mean that she was not hurt and angry, or that she was willing to forgive. It did_ not_.

_But those three_, she thought. _Those three_.

**- - - - - - - - - -**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes:** This is just _half_ a chapter, but I've been running into some trouble with the second half, while this part is OK as it stands; so I thought I might as well upload it.

At this point I should add that I am rapidly approaching the end of the finished, or even half-finished, bits of the story. But I'll upload the rest of this chapter, and there may well be something after it; beyond that I make no promises.

**PRIME DIRECTIVE**

**Chapter 12**

Hirun Ta'Nemek Gontha did nothing to hide his surprise when Picard entered his office around mid-morning the following day. He rose slowly from behind his massive desk, studied his visitor for several moments and said at length: "I wasn't aware that we had an appointment, Captain."

"We didn't. Please forgive my intrusion, Speaker – I am afraid I bullied Secretary Zikané into showing me the way, and into getting me past your assistant as well. Do you have a few minutes?"

Gontha looked down on a number of writing pads and what looked like file cards scattered all over his desk. "It depends on what you want them for. I _am_ rather busy."

"I was going to ask for some information on the current state of Tala-Hurso relations, on your work, and on Ras Hettith in particular," Picard replied matter-of-factly. "The moment seemed appropriate, seeing that both Ta'Arun Sathene and Arun Halé are attending a meeting of what I think must be some kind of crisis committee."

"Meaning, since both you and I are evidently not wanted there, you weren't going to miss the opportunity of getting me alone?" Gontha's tone was sharp.

"Meaning, I realized I had a fair chance of finding you here." The captain made very sure that his own voice stayed level. "Speaker, if this is inconvenient, I'll leave. All you have to do is say so."

A pause. "Actually," said Gontha, "I might as well tell you what you want to know. _If_ you really want to know it. In case you're interested, I'm working on a speech. To be broadcast tomorrow, asking my fellow countrymen to refrain from rash action, for all the good it'll do. With regard to whatever it is Hettith may be up to, you understand. I can finish it this afternoon." He pushed his chair back. "Let's go for a walk."

Gontha's assistant, a younger man who had been quietly working away between stacks of files when Picard entered the outer office, was now hovering in the middle of the room as if he expected trouble of some sort. From an adjacent room the agitated murmur of several voices could be heard – the Speaker's staff, presumably. Gontha nodded towards the young man in passing.

"My private secretary, Kalon Heltagé. I'll be gone for a little while, Heltagé, and please don't tell anybody to try again this afternoon. I probably won't be available until tomorrow," he said, almost in the act of preceding Picard out of the room. "By the way, Captain – what are your officers doing?"

"My first officer is with Sub-Minister Té Rabanek, probably taking a crash course in your world's technology. And Arun Rassa very kindly offered to take Commander Troi and Lieutenant Worf on a tour of the city."

"They are the ones who will be providing the tour," Gontha commented somewhat cryptically, setting off down the wide hall outside his offices. Outwardly at least, Picard noted, the Hurso speaker _was_ a minister in all but name. The hall, and what he had seen of the office itself, was magnificent, and a passing clerk gave them a respectful salute – as well as a long, interested look.

"Well," said Gontha after a few moments, slowing down somewhat. "I confess I'm a little puzzled. If my memory serves me right you gave a point-blank refusal about this time yesterday when Sathene asked for your help in dealing with Hettith. Now you come to me for information about him. Why?"

"I heard the ligor's point of view. I heard Ta'Arun Sathene's. I never heard yours. Incidentally, I don't want information about Hettith alone. And I am sure you know that I have been asked to sit in on the talks you will probably have to conduct if this uprising is to be prevented."

"True enough. Sathene told me yesterday, and as a matter of fact it's in all the broadcasts today. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what the governer is hoping for. That directive of yours forbids you to do anything about it, doesn't it?"

"It does, and then it is hardly my place to _do_ anything about the problems of your world, Speaker. But nothing forbids me to take an interest in them, or to collect what information I can."

"I see." Gontha was silent for a few moments, apparently gathering his thoughts. Finally he looked up. "First of all I must apologize. I have hardly been on my best manners so far. At the time Governer Ongar's probe program was regarded with suspicion by many Hurso, myself included, but we didn't really believe anything would come of it. And here you are, and you're not exactly what I would have expected. I suppose it caught me off guard."

"No apology is required for that, Speaker."

"You are very gracious, Captain. Very well. Where should I start?"

"With Thana Ta'Arun Ongar, perhaps." The captain found himself frowning a little. "In the material sent us he comes over as a courageous and enlightened man, although I am aware that the material was compiled by his own team of scholars and scientists. You seem rather less sanguine about his achievements."

"Ah. Yes. I imagine that must have been rather obvious. Don't get me wrong – I know Ongar is regarded as a sort of visionary by many people, and I suppose he was, in a way. But for all his goodwill we are pretty much where we were when he died. And I might just as well tell you _how_ he died," Gontha added with a degree of bitterness, "because sooner or later someone _will_ tell you. He was shot by a Hurso fanatic not two turns after that probe was launched. You can imagine it didn't make things any easier for my people."

"Yes. I can. But what was the point in assassinating the first head of state who ever showed an interest in integrating the Hurso at all?"

"I suppose," Gontha said carefully, "Ongar didn't move fast enough, or decidedly enough, to satisfy people who had been second-class citizens for generations. And I must admit I see their point, even if I don't like their methods. Yes, there had been efforts. But they always fell short of what was required. This used to be our continent, Captain. I have no sympathy for fanatics who claim that we should unite and drive the Tala into the sea, or some such nonsense. But the way things are going we may be expected to remain second-class citizens for another generation or so. People won't accept that. And I can't in good conscience ask them to."

Picard nodded without replying. "What were your reservations about the probe program?" he asked then.

"I wasn't on the cabinet at the time – I was nowhere _near_ the cabinet. But the general opinion among my people was that if anything came of it it would benefit those already in power. As Ras Hettith now claims it does."

"Tell me about this Ras Hettith," said Picard.

"I'd have thought Ta'Arun Sathene must have done that already," Gontha retorted with some of his former touchiness. "Ah, yes, you want my side of it – is that it? Very well, but don't expect me to act the partisan." He stopped at a window to look out, briefly, before continuing. The window overlooked a sun-baked courtyard. Picard could see someone – a clerk probably – crossing it with a bundle of documents under his arm.

"He is from an old Hurso family. Countrypeople, proud and poor, that sort of thing." Gontha withdrew from the window, and resumed his walk. "First rose to visibility about twenty-four turns ago. There was another uprising – I won't bore you with the details. Something to do with a tax that favored certain parts of the population that just happened to be overwhelmingly Tala. The government reacted rather unwisely. Things developed into a full-blown civil war. Hettith was quite young, but he made a name for himself at the time – discovered himself to possess a lot of charisma and an uncanny talent for guerrilla warfare. The uprising was quashed, but the brutality of the government troops, and the fact that the rebels had a good cause to begin with, led to quite a lot of sympathy for the Hurso plight. Towards the end of the war Hettith was a popular hero. And a martyr, because the devastation inflicted on his home province was among the worst of the war. In the end he just disappeared – he would have been executed for treason had he been caught. But in the aftermath of the war the first pro-Hurso reforms worthy of the name were instituted."

Picard said nothing, merely nodding and waiting for him to go on.

"Hettith wasn't heard of for a number of turns. Some people thought him dead. Others insisted that he was merely hiding. He would have become a legend either way. The next civil war broke out when yet another cabinet decided to deny the Hurso certain civil rights. And Hettith was back – this time with a small armed force he'd gathered and trained in secret." Gontha smiled grimly. "He was very good at choosing his targets. He always made his point. A terrorist, Captain – but a brilliant terrorist, and one with an agenda many people can identify with. When _that_ war was over the governer who had been provisionally elected in the course of it – Sathene – had to grant him an amnesty. That was about five turns ago. Since then… well, there have been activities, but they couldn't be traced back to him. He hasn't done anything that would justify his arrest, not openly. Until now."

_I see_, Picard found himself thinking. If Sathene had come to power in the midst of a major crisis that might explain a few things about the man. "Do you know Hettith personally?" he asked.

"_Know_ him? No. But we have met." Gontha favored him with another sour smile. "I am the official Hurso speaker. That alone makes me look suspicious in the eyes of many of my own people, Captain. I walk with the mighty. I talk and talk, aiming for tiny improvements and achieving nothing. He, on the other hand –" A brief snort. "He may not have achieved much either, except a trail of corpses. But people like Hettith will always appear to be the ones who change things."

"Then you would say the Hurso population supports him?"

"No, Captain, I wouldn't say that." Gontha gave an audible sigh. "There are sympathizers, fervent and otherwise. Quite a lot of them. But most of my people don't want civil war and bloodshed. They simply want their rights. So far, neither Hettith nor I have succeeded in earning them these rights. In the long run, my chances are better. In the here and now…" He hesitated. "As I said, he is a popular hero. Most people have never seen him. There is a certain glamour to men like him, and there is a great deal of bitterness among my people. Do you understand that?" A little to Picard's surprise there was an almost pleading tone to the question.

"Yes," said the captain. "As a matter of fact I do."

"Not that it will change a thing." Gontha looked back over his shoulder at the long hallway. "Captain," he said rather abruptly, "if you don't mind, I would prefer to continue some other time. I really have to get back to my work. We'll meet at the cabinet dinner tonight anyway."

"Of course," Picard said, surprised – and he had barely spoken when Gontha turned away with a brief nod and headed back the way they had come, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway. The captain looked after him for a moment with a slight frown; then he shook his head, turned away and decided to look for a way down into the small, lush and still-shady garden courtyard he could see from the windows.

**- - - - - - - - **

_Dramatis personae_ for this chapter:

Ulaz Ta'Arun **Sathene**: Head of Turië's government, or "governer"

Senna Arun **Halé**: Turië's Minister for Interior Affairs

Hirun Ta'Nemek **Gontha**: the official Hurso representative, or "speaker", on the cabinet

Kalon **Heltagé**: Gontha's secretary

Kamarzin Arun **Rassa**: Turië's Minister forLaw and Justice

Astorga "Ras" **Hettith**: „the Major", a Hurso leader

Thana Ta'Arun **Ongar**: an earlier governer of Turië, and thus Belet-Irune


End file.
